From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Wed, 28 Jun 2000 12:55:54 -0500 Subject: A New Commandment - Sequel to How Bright it Shows by SisterZooey Source: direct Reply To: SisterZooey@yahoo.com Title: A New Commandment (1/1) Author: SisterZooey Rating: R, for language and one brief adult situation Category: MSR (if you insist) Distribution Statement: Anywhere, babies. Just let me know. Feedback: SisterZooey@yahoo.com Spoilers: None Summary: It is what it is. Please visit either Ephemeral or sisterzooey.homestead.com/index.html to read the first three parts of this story (Meaning of the Term, Definitive, and How Bright it Shows) otherwise this will make no sense. Moreover, if you would like to understand more fully who Louise was to Mulder, read "Elephant Hunting," which can also be found at Ephemeral and my site. Author's Notes: (from the jacket notes of Stonewall, by Martin Duberman) "On June 28, 1969 the Stonewall, a gay bar in New York's Greenwich Village, was raided. But instead of the routine compliance expected by the police, patrons and a growing crowd decided to fight back..." The inherent goodness of truth, honesty, and love... Disclaimer: These characters (with the exception of Louise, Gwen, Michael, and Kevin) belong to CC and 1013 productions. I am not making one thin dime off of all of this. Additional Note: To Jennifer, for her kindness and friendship A New Commandment (1/1) "A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye shall have love to one another." - John 13: 34-35 Monday, 8 a.m. Fox Mulder's Office My lover... I look over the tops of my glasses to see him absorbed in a tabloid, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. My lover reads tabloid magazines, eats sunflower seeds, watches pornography, and hogs my pillows when we share a bed. He prefers to shower in the morning as opposed to the evening and he takes his coffee black. He doesn't snore, but he talks in his sleep and will say (with a small smile) that his favorite color is gray. He reads the front page of the paper before he reads the comics and he has an IQ of 190, even though he'd deny such an extravagant number with a poker face. I have done some digging in his FBI file. He's 6'1", 180 pounds, with hair that is listed as "brown" and eyes that are listed as "hazel." It must be a mistake. His hair is chestnut, his eyes are gold. The manila folder tells me he is Caucasian. I know better: he is Dutch and Russian. The space where his religious denomination is listed is just that, a space, but I have seen pictures of his Bar Mitzvah. No, never mind that. He is, simply, a believer. That's what it should say in that space. Fox William Mulder - believer. Marital Status - single. I smiled broadly when I reread that earlier this morning. I shifted in my seat and heard the telling clink of our rings in the pocket of my suit jacket. I and only I would take them to a jewelry store off the Mall, a safe distance from work, over our lunch hour. I was used to covert operations, but this one made my heart race. My coworkers were having three martini lunches and fucking in the back of motor pool cars and I was having palpitations over secreting some rings to a jewelry store while Mulder bought me a bagel at the deli down the street. Who has committed the greatest sin? I tried not to think about it, but when I did, it seemed grossly, painfully unfair. Around the water cooler one could talk about the endless strings of town bicycles (male or female) that walked the hallowed halls of the Bureau lightly and jokingly. But God forbid that two agents enter into a committed, adult relationship... I don't know if Mulder and I are being stupid, brave, or just taking a plain old stand. Time would tell. Hell, next Monday would tell, when the rings came back from the jeweler. My lover... I still can't believe it. I have woken up next to him three times now and I still laugh at the unreality of it all. When he said, "I love you" to me this morning I found myself only able to throw my arms around his neck, smile and nod. Talking has become such a chore lately. I have abandoned the pretense of hard work altogether. Something in Mulder detects the lack of activity from my side of the room and he glances over the top of his paper. When he sees that he is being stared at, he lays the paper down. "What are you lookin' at, lady?" he asks, grinning. "You," I say softly and turn back to my computer screen. He picks up his paper, shaking his head. "Our solve rate is going to go through the floor," he says and we both smile. XXXXXX Tuesday, 7 p.m. Dana Scully's Apartment We are sitting on my couch, curled up at opposite ends. I am reading the morning paper; he is watching television. I have put on jeans and a T-shirt, but Mulder is still in his suit, parts of it anyway. His jacket, tie, and shoes have been abandoned. His collar button is undone and his sleeves are rolled up. I am curbing my urge to pounce on him in like a jungle cat. The reason he has not dressed down for the evening is because we are still pretending that he is going to go home tonight. He hasn't been to his apartment since we got back from Missouri. The clothes he packed for the trip are holding out nicely, although I imagine his fish are not. We played this game last night too, acting as if we were rather surprised to see that it was ten-thirty "already" and why don't you just stay here tonight, Mulder. I haven't worn pajamas to bed in two days and I'm hoping to make it three tonight. Mulder is the first to mention it, even though we have both been thinking about it. "Where are we going to live, Scully?" I readjust myself on the couch, stretching my legs out so they touch his. "You want to live together?" "Most married couples do." I decide to test him. "But, Mulder, we're not married." "Yes we are. You know that." I nod. "Well, where do you want to live?" "I don't really care." "What about your apartment?" I suggest. "It's too small, don't you think?" I shrug. "Anyway, maybe we could find something in a nicer neighborhood." He pauses. "Your neighborhood is pretty nice." "Do you want to live here?" "I like your home Scully. We could live here if you want to." I consider this for a moment. "I don't know if I would feel right about that. It would feel like you were giving something up where I didn't have to." "I don't mind, if you would really like to stay here." Again, I fall silent. "I really don't need to stay here," I begin slowly. "If we were to find a new place together I would be fine with that." "So is that what we'll do?" "Seems like it." "Okay then." Mulder doesn't seem satisfied and only hesitates a minute before saying, "Are you sure, Scully?" "Of course." "Because if you become un-sure about it, just say the word. Like I said, we can live here." "Really, Mulder," I scoot closer to him. "I think it's a good idea that we get another place." He searches my face to see if I am telling the truth. Once he has reassured himself, he leans in and kisses me. I take his hands and wish that his ring were there. Monday was six days away. I am anxious for us to make our stand, afraid I will lose my nerve by the time those six days passed. The kiss ends and we lean into one another, our foreheads touching. "Stay here tonight." "Of course." He kisses me again, but quickly. "I'll stay here every night, if you want." Slowly, slowly the game we have been playing is ending. XXXXXX Wednesday, 2 p.m. Fox Mulder's Office Mulder is elbow-deep in real-estate guides. I am glad that this has been a slow week - I imagine that he would forgo sleep if he hadn't the time at work to dig through those things. "Scully?" He cuts the studious silence of the office. I am filling out expense reports, which is more than fine by me. Being in charge of finding a place for us seems to assuage his guilt over suggesting that I move out of my apartment. I don't know where he got the impression that I would be attached to the doorstep where my sister was shot in the head, where I emptied my gun into Pfaster, where I tucked him in after I had shot him in the shoulder... too many guns in my life. I look up when he says my name. He stands up and crosses in front of his desk, assuming the `serious talk' position. "I think we should buy a house." "Really?" He nods. "We could get a nice place in Georgetown. There are quite a few in here." He reaches behind him and holds up a newsprint booklet. "Listen," he retrieves his glasses and reads, "Two story, three bedroom home. Central air, rec room, two and a half baths. Ten minutes from the freeway, quiet neighborhood, three blocks from FDR Elementary. 175,000, or best offer." He looks up. "There are a few others a lot like it." "Can we afford that?" I was destined to be the sensible one. I imagine I knew that. He nods, looking a bit embarrassed. "Scully, my father was a very rich man. When mom died, I got all of it." "How much is all of it?" I stop his answer by holding up my hand. "Only if you want to tell me, of course." "You're my wife, of course I'll tell you." We look away from each other's eyes, simultaneously wishing, I think, that he hadn't chosen that justification. "Um, it's about 1.5 million. Most of it's invested, but we can have any house we want. That's what it's for. That's what I was keeping it for." "To buy a house?" "No," he clarifies, "to buy you a house." "You're kidding." "I'm afraid not." We stare at one another for a long moment. "Well, then," I smile, "Let's buy a house." XXXXXX Thursday, 10 p.m. Route Nine Motor Lodge Rural Pennsylvania "Mulder, we really shouldn't... not on a case..." "What a silly thing to say. Of course we should." He loosens the grip I have on the belt of my robe and unties it. "What we shouldn't do is continue to get separate rooms, thereby screwing the taxpayers out of even more hard-earned money." He kisses my bare collarbone. "It's been almost 48 hours since we've done this." I gasp when he swipes his tongue along the narrow bone. I tilt my head back and Mulder goes for the jugular, quite literally, kissing and nipping his way up to my ear. My knees buckle and he wraps his arm low around my waist. "Like that, Scully?" His voice is a low laugh in my ear. My whole body responds subtly yet enthusiastically to it. The obvious solution is the bed and I reach back for it. We stumble, trip, fall our way back to the squeaky mattress and I set to work on his clothes the second my back hits the cheap quilt. I have him naked and beneath me in under two minutes. "Not on a case, Mulder?" he mimics, cupping my breasts in his hands. I kiss him, hard and long, in response. He doesn't utter another protest, nor anything else coherent for the next 45 minutes. XXXXXX Friday, 7 p.m. Margaret Scully's House The case was open and shut and I got home in time to find three increasingly frantic messages from my mother on my answering machine. We hadn't talked since before Missouri. I call her immediately and, after calming her down, accept an invitation to dinner at her house. Looking over at Mulder, who is in the process of picking through the nearly empty fridge, I say, "Mom, is it alright if Mulder comes too?" I drive over to Mom's while Mulder makes a show of staring very interestedly out the passenger side window. He clears his throat when we are 20 minutes from her house. "Are we going to tell her?" "Yes. We have to." "How?" "I have no idea." At a stoplight three blocks from her house, Mulder leans over and gives me a light kiss on the cheek. I take his hand and drive the rest of the way holding it. X Inspiration strikes over clam chowder and at the tail end of a banal inquiry into what took us out of town. Mulder has been picking at his food throughout the entire meal. I decide to end the suspense so he can get some food in his stomach. "Guess what, Mom? I'm moving." Mulder coughs and shifts in his seat. My mother pays him a modicum of attention. I can see quickly concealed curiosity pass across her face. "To where, honey?" "I'm getting a place in Georgetown. Actually," I look across the table at Mulder, who appears to have swallowed a boulder, "Mulder and I are getting a place in Georgetown." Mom is much more interested in Mulder now. He looks positively ill. I don't know what he expects her to do, but he seems to be bracing for impact. My mother finally decides on, "Well, this is quite sudden," and smiles politely at the two of us. Being the good Catholic that she is, she adds, "Are you getting married?" Mulder, the love of my life, the being around whom the sun rises and sets in my eyes, blurts out, "We're already married," and my mother's spoon hits her bowl with a clatter. She looks quickly to me. "You're married?" "We exchanged rings." Mulder has busied himself with the oyster crackers. He traps one of my feet between his under the table. I'm sorry comes in many forms. Mom is still staring at me, awaiting an explanation. "We don't plan to get legally married, Mom. We just can't." I am miserable, hoping she understands. There is no good or reasonable way to explain it. Mom stands up abruptly from the table, taking her bowl into the kitchen. I am quick to follow her and Mulder is on my heels. She is standing at the kitchen sink, arms braced on either side of her when I enter the room. "Mrs. Scully -" Mulder begins. I reach out behind me and put one hand on his chest. "Fox, call me Mom." She turns to face us. "Are you happy? "Yes," I answer. "Well, Fox, are you?" "Very." She nods slowly. "Then who am I to argue with that?" I feel Mulder relax behind me, even though I am not fully comforted. I know my mother and she is trying to do what she thinks is right in this situation, regardless of its distance from what she feels. "Where are these rings you mentioned?" She takes me into her arms in a tight embrace and then does the same to Mulder. "They're at the jeweler's. They didn't fit," he says as she lets him go. "I gave him Ahab's ring, Mom." Her jaw quivers and there are unshed tears in her eyes. "I gave it to you with that very purpose in mind, dear." She hugs me again and then turns to Mulder, laying her hand on his cheek. "I wish Bill could have met you." Mulder says nothing, but nods and hugs her again. "Well," she wipes the tears from her cheeks, "I would say that a bottle of wine is in order. Fox, would you mind very much going down to the cellar and bringing one up?" Mulder drinks only one glass of wine, volunteering to drive. Mom and I finish the bottle together. We are a bit giddy and Mom gets out the photo albums, intent on embarrassing me in to the next county. Mulder merrily adds fuel to the fire, using what I recognize as his "good cop" to draw things that happened 25 years ago out of my mother. I am too tipsy to care and laugh right along with him. In the car on the way home, I doze against my seat belt. Through the haze of sleep, I feel Mulder touch my cheek. Quietly, he says, "I wish I had known you then." XXXXXX Saturday, 2:30 p.m. Location Unknown Saturday afternoon finds us dining out again, this time at the Gunmen's lair. Mulder plays basketball in the morning at an outdoor court at the Y near their place. I lie in the grass nearby and read while Mulder plays one on one with an imposingly tall African American man. They seem to know one another, as I overhear snippets of conversation about work and common friends. I glance up from my book now and then to watch Mulder. I get the distinct impression that he knows he is being watched and that he is showing off a bit for his girlfriend. Smiling, and settling back down behind my book, I can feel his eyes on me. "Milk, keep your eyes on the game, would you please?" Apparently, Mulder's opponent had noticed his wandering attention, too. He lowers his voice. I don't think I am supposed to hear. "She's about ten years too young for you, man. You wouldn't stand a chance." "Wouldn't I?" Mulder does indignant quite well. "Hey, you!" I look up, pointing innocently to myself, playing along. "Would you have lunch with me this afternoon?" "Sure," I say and go back to my book. "See?" I hear a playful slap and imagine Mulder swatting the other man on the bicep. There is a pause. "Don't look at me like that, Lawrence." Mulder sighs and I hear the chain link rattle. "Scully." He calls out to me. I set down my book and amble over to the fence. "Yes?" "Dana Scully, this is Lawrence Clark. Lawrence, Dana. She's my partner at the FBI." A smile spreads across Lawrence's face. "Nice to meet you, Dana. I believe Mulder has mentioned you once or twice." His voice drips with sarcasm. "Nice to meet you too, Lawrence." We exchange brief pleasantries and then they finish their game. I hear Lawrence ask Mulder if we are "together," to which he replies, "Believe it or not, man." Mulder takes a quick shower before we head to the Gunmen's. We arrive there at about half past two and are let in by Byers. Tacos are on the menu this afternoon and I offer my assistance to Frohike in the kitchen. He puts me to work chopping tomatoes and grating cheese. Langly takes advantage of Mulder as a captive audience and demonstrates the Gunmen's newest toys. Frohike, who is hard at work on the beef, says, "So Miss Scully, how have you been?" I smile at him, and say, "Better than I've been in years, Hickey." "I'm glad to hear that." Frohike follows my gaze into the living room, where Mulder jokes with Byers and Langly. "Mulder seems awfully up too." He looks at me again, working his jaw. "What's going on, Scully? What happened? Something major at work?" "Nope," I scrape the tomatoes into a bowl and start on the cheese. When I say nothing else, Frohike abandons his post at the stove and leans against the counter next to me. "You can tell me. Mulder and I have an agreement. I know everything that goes on with the X-Files, just in case." His clandestine behavior, given the situation, is comical. I laugh and shake my head. "No, Frohike, it's nothing like that at all." I grate some more cheese before continuing. With an idiotic smile on my face that I cannot seem to conquer, I say, "Mulder and I got married last weekend." "What?!" His response is loud enough to attract the attention of the whole house. "When?" "Last weekend, like I said." "Guys, these two got hitched last weekend!" Frohike storms into the living room, apparently forgetting his culinary obligations. Langly and Byers stare at Mulder like he's sprouted a third eye. Mulder looks to me, smiling. "Aw, Scully, I wanted to tell them." I step out of the kitchen and around Frohike. I am en route to Mulder's side when Byers envelops me in a tight hug. "Congratulations," he says, sounding choked up. I always knew he was a closet romantic. I return the embrace and accept kisses from Langly and Frohike. They shake Mulder's hand until I begin to wonder if his arm is going to come loose and Langly goes out in search of a bottle of champagne. Byers wants details. "Was it a private ceremony?" "Very private," Mulder chimes in. When Langly returns with the champagne he says, "The clerk assured me that it goes well with tacos," and I hope he is joking. We have champagne and tacos, regardless. We play poker afterward and Frohike hands around cigars. Mulder is amused to see me take one. I light it and blow a smoke ring in his face. I hold my own at the card table, breaking about even. Mulder and I head home at about nine. As we walk down the street to my car, Mulder puts his arm around my shoulder. "Smoking cigars, cussing, playing poker... tisk, tisk, Ms. Scully." I capture his mouth with mine, letting him taste the flavor of smoke on my tongue. "I am a sailor's daughter, Mr. Mulder." We stop in the middle of the sidewalk to kiss one another more thoroughly. "What have I gotten myself into?" He asks in a low voice. "You'll find out as we go along," I whisper. Taking his hands, I drag him toward the car. XXXXXX Sunday, 11:30 a.m. Georgetown We see our first, second, and third houses this morning. The first two leave me nonplussed. I suspect that the real estate agent that shows the first two to us does not like us, moreover, that she thinks there is something funny about us. She ask questions which grow increasingly impertinent as the morning goes on. Finally, as we are finishing the grand tour of house number two, she asks "if we have any children together." She emphasizes `together' and gives me a small, saccharine smile, letting her eyes fall to my bare left hand. I am aware of the fact that I look much younger than Mulder, especially when I forego makeup, but I do not appreciate what the tone of her voice is implying. Mulder looks as if he would like to knock the three inches of pancake makeup on her face right off. "No," he answers in a tight voice. We leave very quickly. In the car, Mulder says, "let's try next weekend, okay? There's no rush, right?" "Right. We can try next weekend." I squeeze his hand and he relaxes his death grip on the steering wheel. I turn on the radio and we drive on in a comfortable silence. We pass an advertisement for an open house. I suggest to Mulder that we drive by, just to take a look. He nods and follows the arrows to the house - 421 Tripp Circle. It is at the end of a cul de sac and tucked behind birch trees. There is a stone path to the front door. It feels odd to walk uninvited into a house that I have never been in before. It is smaller than the other houses we have looked at, only two bedrooms and an unfinished basement. There is a small breakfast nook, though, and two full bathrooms. I step out into the backyard while Mulder sets off to inspect the pipes and the insulation in the attic. The backyard is quite large and overgrown with an English garden that apparently got away from the former owner. I pick my way through the plants and decide that I can easily salvage it. There are many rosebushes, quite near to blooming. There is an apple tree with a swing hanging from one straight, study branch. I sit down on it and look over the yard. A wall of lilac bushes separates the back of it from the woods behind the property. Manicured hedges serve as fences on either side of the yard. They are about waist high and I spot someone weeding a flowerbed on the other side. He notices me and stands, cracking his back. "Hello." He smiles. "Are you thinking about buying the house?" I approach the hedge. "My husband and I are just taking a look." I am still not even close to being accustomed to calling Mulder that. It rings in my ears. "It's really a lovely little place. I knew the former owners quite well. Nice and warm in the winter and no maintenance problems that they ever mentioned to us. I can tell you that the neighborhood is very quiet and that there's a shopping center about ten minutes away." "Do you know why the former owners moved?" "They were in their seventies and couldn't keep up with the yard work anymore. Kevin and I tried to help, but they didn't like imposing. They moved into an assisted living condo on the other side of town. Very nice place, we helped them move in." I nodded. He put a hand to his forehead. "How rude of me! My name's Michael Francis." "Nice to meet you. I'm Dana Scully." I reach over the hedge-fence, shake his hand and come away with topsoil on my palm. He calls over his shoulder to the Kevin he mentioned, who emerges from a patio door on the back of the house. He is a tall, thin man in his mid- forties who shakes my hand with a broad smile on his face. "Dana Scully, this is Kevin Miller." "It's a darling little house, really," Kevin reassures me. "Was that your husband I saw poking around the gutters?" "Yes, that would be him." As if on cue, Mulder strolls into the backyard, looking up at the roof. "Mulder come here." "This house is in excellent shape." "I believe we have these gentlemen to thank for that. Fox Mulder this is Michael Francis and Kevin Miller." They shake hands with him in turn. "So do you like it Scully?" "I love it. What about you?" "It's really nice. I think it's perfect." He hands me the information flyer the real estate agency had provided so I can see the price. "How long have you and Dana been married, Mr. Mulder?" Kevin asks. "A week, but she and I have been together for seven years. We work together at the FBI." Michael nods approvingly. "FBI agents for neighbors. Sounds good to me." "People do seem to like that," Mulder says. "How long have you been together?" he asks, completely sure of himself. Kevin looks somewhat surprised at Mulder's question and also at the utter lack of undertone in his voice. Michael just looks pleased to have that question presented to him. "Twenty years," he says proudly. "Congratulations," I say handing the flyer back to Mulder. "Shall I call the real estate agency or did you want to?" Mulder smiles, taking his phone out of his back pocket. "I will, if you don't mind." "Not at all," Mulder steps away from the hedge to make the call, leaving me to chat with our new neighbors. XXXXXX Monday, 12:30 p.m. The Mall, In front of the National Museum of American History At 12:15, Mulder and I stroll into the jewelry store and pick up our rings, which are now two perfect fits. The clerk leaves us alone as we admire them on ourselves and one another. It is like trying on shoes or buying new glasses - do I really want to wake up every day and see this on my body? Will it appear to be a natural part of me? I scrutinize myself in the small mirror on the counter and decide that, in fact, it does appear to be so. Mulder appears to be subjecting himself to the same line of questioning, peering over my shoulder at himself in the mirror. We emerge into the brand new D.C. afternoon hand in hand and patronize a hot dog stand. I can feel Mulder's ring, hotter than his hand, warming a small strip of my palm. I am on the lookout for coworkers; half because I am anxious to disturb the universe, half because I would like time to slip my hand into my pocket while maintaining some semblance of dignity and calm. There is a crowd of about 300 people gathered in front of the National Museum of American History, their attention focused on one woman who has planted herself on the steps with a megaphone. Even if she were to stand on the ground, she would tower six or seven inches over most of the women in the crowd. She is gorgeous, really: tall, as I have mentioned, and lean with long, curly, raven black hair that hangs halfway down her back. Her skin is surpassingly white. I am too far from her to see the color of her eyes, but I would guess that they are light blue or dark brown. She is dressed in casual clothes: faded jeans and a black T-shirt. She is at the height of her fervor, addressing the crowd. "It is horrible," she says to the onlookers, some of which are toting signs, "It is horrible to be ashamed of love. It is horrible to have to hide your love of another human being from the world, to be deathly afraid of accidental discovery." She catches Mulder's attention. We are stopped the middle of the Mall and are listening to this woman speak. The crowd is cheering her on. "Well, you know what, ladies and gentlemen?" Mulder is leading me by the hand closer to the crowd. " It is time to stop hiding. Please, just stop. Stop being afraid. Our fear changes nothing, but our bravery, our honesty just might. At least we won't have to hide anymore." Mulder and I are at the back of the gathering now and I note we are the only people of opposite genders holding hands. Several couples at the back rearrange themselves and make room for us in the crowd. "We have tried it all, haven't we? We have tried appealing to the world from a political standpoint, from a psychological standpoint, from a civil standpoint. We have tried sit-ins, petitions, and riots. It changes so little and all we are in the end is tired and disillusioned. Let us appeal this way then: through love. Let us love one another and leave it at that." The crowd cheers and many of the couples embrace one another in the spirit of the moment. Mulder hauls me through the mass of people, careful not to bump into the entwined couples. His long legs bring us to the steps of the museum in seconds. He calls out "Lou? Louise McDermott?" and the dark- haired woman turns. Watching her come to recognize Mulder is like watching the full moon emerge from behind a cloud. Just as you think that the glow can grow no more brilliant, the cloud departs entirely and illuminates the earth as if it were day. The woman bounds down the steps and almost knocks Mulder over with the force of her embrace. She catches his mouth in an ecstatic kiss and beams at him once it is completed. "Fox! Fox Mulder, I'll be dammed!" Aside from me, I have never seen Mulder smile at anyone like is smiling at Louise. "Lou. How have you been?" She punches him in the shoulder playfully. "It's been twenty years, you jerk! What a fucking question to ask after twenty years!" He holds her first in his hand. "Can you leave? Can you come with us?" Mulder asks her anxiously, acknowledging me standing on a lower step. "Sure I can. Just let me find Gwen." A woman of average height with long, free-flowing brown hair and wire rim glasses appears from the crowd and comes to Louise's side. From the look on her face, I assume that she also witnessed Mulder and Louise's reunion. "Read my mind, love." Louise kisses the other woman sweetly and all seems to be suddenly forgiven. "Fox Mulder, this is Gwen Williams, my wife." Mulder shakes the woman's hand warmly. "Gwen this is Fox Mulder. He was my closest friend in Junior High and High School." The mystery of Louise is solved in my mind, but the knowing look that the two exchange puzzles me. "I want you to meet Dana Scully," Mulder leads the women down the steps to where I stand. "Louise McDermott, this is Dana Scully." We shake hands. Mulder's best friend... fascinating... Louise introduces me to Gwen and we are off, struggling through the crowd. Everyone wants to shake Louise's hand and have "a moment of her time." She moves as quickly as she can and we make it to the rear of the crowd in five minutes. A squat, balding man approaches us, specifically Louise, glaring at her with utter contempt. "Love?" he spits at her. "You're an abomination before the Lord, you and your so-called love!" Louise looks nonplussed and proceeds to step around the man, her face expertly blank. He steps in her way again, standing inappropriately close to her. "You are a perversion -" Mulder intervenes, placing himself between Louise and the man as he withdraws his badge from inside his jacket. He does these things in one obviously practiced motion, additionally allowing the man enough time to spot the shoulder holster in the shady recesses of his coat. "Is there a problem, sir?" The man peers at Mulder's badge and then at his face. "Figures," he says just loud enough for me to hear. "Queer loving Jew working for the government." Louise gets a vice grip on Mulder's shoulder and orders him to "just walk." We move on, leaving the man grousing in our wake. Louise tries to lighten the mood once we are clear the crowd entirely. "They gave you a gun, Fox?" He acknowledges her gentle jibe with a small smile. "The FBI?" She looks beyond him to me. "Are you his partner?" "Yes, I am." Mulder chooses this moment to tuck his hand into mine. Louise drops her eyes to our entangled fingers, catching sight, I would imagine, of my ring. "More than that, I see." Mulder nods. "As of late, yes." Lou takes Gwen's hand and says, "It's been four years for us." "What are you doing now Lou?" "I'm legal counsel for ACT UP in New York. Say, I thought you did psych at Oxford. How'd you end up at the FBI?" "I did criminal profiling for a while. Now Scully and I deal with unexplained phenomena." "Really. Ghosts and UFOs and the like?" "Indeed." We pass between the Natural History Museum and the National Gallery of Art and the National Archives comes into view. People I recognize from the office but could not name begin to become part of the traffic around us. I am not listening to Louise and Mulder anymore. I am scanning the people around us, watching for stares and comments from the people that I have begun to identify from work. The din of the warm afternoon is a hollow roar in my ears. I wiggle my fingers and Mulder grips my hand tighter. He's not going to let me back down. I don't want him to. Louise cuts through the hum in my head. "How long have you been married?" "Eight days," Mulder answers. We are on the corner in front of the Justice Department. The Hoover Building looms large before us. Jill from the motor pool is next to me, stealing less than stealthy glances at my and Mulder's joined hands. I see her eyes widen as she notes my ring. She tilts forward, trying to find the mate for my band on Mulder's finger. I am afraid she is going to topple over into oncoming traffic. When the light turns, she practically sprints across the street. "Please, then, let Gwen and I take you two out to dinner tonight to celebrate the occasion." Mulder and I accept as we cross the street to the Hoover Building. Mulder and Louise exchange cell phone numbers, agreeing to meet at seven-thirty. They embrace again and Louise steals another kiss. Mulder parts with it gladly. Louise shakes my hand, kissing me on the cheek, and congratulates me, saying she was "so pleased" to meet me. When Gwen shakes my hand, she pulls me a little closer. Still holding onto my hand, she says, "I saw the woman at the crosswalk, too. You're worried. Please don't be worried. Just love." XXXFINXXX feedback me, babies