No Regrets by MystPhile@aol.com Chapter 7--Nothing Gold (post Three of a Kind) "Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour." ---All quotes in this chapter from "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost For someone who believed she had her "feet on the ground," Scully certainly spent a lot of time in the air. First, she flew to Las Vegas, where she'd been frustrated by her inability to contact Mulder. Next, she'd soared into space, high as the moon, making a spectacle of herself with every man in sight. She was drugged, of course; there was that excuse. But she still couldn't help wondering if maybe there was some underlying truth in her, uh, highly uncharacteristic behavior in Las Vegas. As in, after all these strait-laced years, Agent Scully was ready to rebel against the rock-like persona she'd gradually developed. Well, rock-like till Kresge came along and made her all soft and eager. Maybe it was the new Scully who'd emerged for a brief adventure in Vegas, the one who wanted to experience life in all its permutations, jump into the pool instead of standing back, avoiding splashes, taking notes, and interrogating the participants. The drug may have simply picked up on a desire she didn't always act on. It may have been embarrassing, but the new Scully, upon sober reflection, found it more amusing than earth-shattering. So she'd acted a bit like a bimbo; no harm done unless she actually did float from man to man in her normal life. But she had zeroed in on one, John Kresge. With little mental excursions into the orbit of her partner, but, hey, mental didn't count. She wondered if she was still drugged. For some reason, she wasn't that upset about losing control of her actions--again. After sobering and winding up the case, she had finally reached Mulder, who was baffled to hear about her adventure in Vegas. She'd been had, she realized, and took flight once again. This time she flew into a rage at the LoneGunMen who'd tricked her into this silly situation. After she calmed down, she was almost flattered that they'd imported her for the occasion and gratified that they'd sought a cure for her drugged state and refused to take advantage of her or let anyone else do so. They may have tricked her, but they had some class and showed some respect for her, once she became involved in their scenario. So, she told herself. You act like a bimbo and write it all off as good, clean fun. Is this you, Dana? Are you really a slut underneath all those prim suits and dark colors? What's underneath if we lift off your professional veneer? But she shrugged off those concerns and booked a flight to San Diego, where she now sat, hemmed in by squealing children, lost in thought, sober expression back in place. She imagined she'd heard something different in John Kresge's voice when she called to tell him she was only a short flight away. He'd urged her to come, but there was a nagging air of...of what? ...reserve that lingered behind his words. More inclined to trust her feelings these days, she fidgeted in her narrow seat, envisioning rainy days ahead. How could she hope to hold onto a gem like Kresge? In her mind, he had always been on loan, precious and golden, like the jewelry celebrities borrow for awards ceremonies. The question was, how long before he had to be returned. But her first sight of him in the terminal quieted her doubts. With a broad smile, he threw his arms around her and pulled her close. His hard body, now so familiar, fit into her soft curves like a jigsaw puzzle. She burrowed into his neck, enjoying a heady whiff of essence de Kresge, then drew back to study his face. He looked well-rested, happy, and gorgeous. "This is an unexpected treat," he told her, pushing her hair back and caressing the nape of her neck. He leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. His smile warmed her like sunshine. "Yeah, well, as I said, I somehow got rooked into coming to Vegas. In for a penny, in for a pound." She laughed. "I do sound as if I've been in Vegas. Not that a penny will get you very far there." She stretched to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I'm glad you were able to fit me in." He picked up her bag and headed for the door, his other arm wrapped around her shoulder. "No problem. My pleasure, in fact. There's something I've been wanting to discuss with you." Walking to the car, she pondered that ominous remark while trading small talk about her flight. Ominous? Why should she feel a tremor of fear simply because he wanted to talk? It's obvious, she told herself. It's like you thought--he's on loan. It's too good to be true, this series of...of romantic meetings with a beautiful man who gives you everything you could want or need. Who fucks your brains out and gives every indication of liking you besides. Who listens, respects your opinions, has a great sense of humor. Supports you. Is intelligent and, and, and articulate. Jesus, what's not to like! A Paradise like this cannot last. Time to pay the piper and thank god for the nice ride you got out of it. But I'm not ready to let go, a small inner voice objected. As Kresge started the car, Scully silenced her panicky inner voices and summoned up her rational side. Whoa. Time out. Why do I think it's over, just because he says he wants to talk, she asked herself. Are we into some weird role reversal here? Usually it's the woman who wants to talk and the guy who's scared shitless. Have I become unwomaned somewhere along the way? She disposed of that idea quickly. Nah, she answered herself. He makes me feel like a woman all right, practically a Cosmo girl. A mental snort followed her memory of the woman she'd turned into under the influence of drugs. Unwomaned? Hah! Maybe I should stop worrying and just see what he's gonna say. It could be something about Janet, or his ex-wife, or his work. Maybe he's thinking of applying for a promotion. Or changing divisions. And what is it about me that made me think it was all over just because this guy who gave me a big tight hug and a dazzling smile mentioned that he'd like to talk. Jesus, I am so weird. For the rest of the ride, while telling Kresge about her adventures in Las Vegas, her multi-tasking mind worried that her years at the X-Files had made her too weird to maintain a normal relationship. But then there was her friend Ellen, who'd had a so-called normal "marry, have kids, and live happily ever after" relationship. Until her husband Larry discovered he was gay and left. "Normality" was no refuge. And why had she ever thought it would be, after a childhood which was a strange combination of normal--two loving parents, close but mercurial relationships with siblings, no serious strife--and abnormal-- absent father, pick up and move every year or three. Abandon your friends, start all over again. Be the new girl, again. Build a new life; leave. Eventually learn that attachments are best avoided. Maybe she was unfit for normal. If normal existed. When she and John talked about their youths, she realized that the family she'd believed idyllic was in fact pretty conflicted. But they never brought the conflicts into the open. Her mother had wanted everyone to be "nice." Recently, she'd asked her mother to tell her how it felt--raising four stubborn children largely by herself, but Maggie's reticence was a brick wall. Maggie Scully liked everything in her life to be as smooth and unruffled as the household she patiently set up again and again. Her instinct was as deep as a nesting bird's, and nothing could make her deviate from her need to build a home--over and over and over, if necessary. I'm stubborn like her, Dana thought. But I'm also a martyr the same way she is. Shut up and be dutiful, whether you like it or not. Bow to the proper authorities. Ironic, since I thought I was going my own way, building my own career, rejecting Ahab's wishes. Silly, superior me, filled with scorn at the idea of settling down and being like Mom. And now, here I am: I have no home, little prospect of one, no respect for authority, and nothing much to show for my 35 years on earth. Abruptly, she halted that line of thought, recalling the new Dana Scully, the one ready to grow wings and soar above the painful past. I do have something, she thought; I have everything I need. I have my life, and it is...precious. Looking out her partially-open window at the eucalyptus trees, admiring their exotic beauty and entranced by their heavenly scent, she experienced an epiphany: Despite being totally fucked up about everything she could think of, she was happy. The feeling was so rare that she had difficulty recognizing it. It had to knock on her door and hand her a photo ID before she would grant it belated recognition and a grudging admittance. She'd been happy for some time now, just clueless about the nature of that foreign feeling. Obviously, she'd been happy during most of the time she spent with Kresge. She and Mulder at the bat--another happy memory. Perfect harmony. And her girltalk with Ellen, with the renewed feeling of connection and trust. Plenty of good times. For the first time since Emily died, she felt anticipation at the beginning of every new day. Her soul had stirred, and she was awake to life and its possibilities. The feeling was such a contrast to her previous malaise, she felt like kissing the ground every day. Scully had sprung into full blossom. However, her blossom was quick to wilt when, seated on Kresge's couch, she heard why he wanted to talk with her. ("Her early leaf's a flower/ But only so an hour.") "I don't want to upset you, Dana," he began, promptly throwing her into a well- concealed panic. "But I want to tell you about some things that have happened, some things I've...been thinking about." Her face calm, she nodded for him to continue. She sipped the coffee he'd prepared for her and told herself to get a grip, for Christ's sake. It could still be a family matter, or professional. Just keep thinking that, she admonished herself. Which went down the tubes with his next words. "What we've, uh, had has changed me, you know?" He waited for her to give a cautious nod. "I was so...morose, beaten down. I just couldn't seem to do anything to get my life in gear. I'd go to work, do things with Janet, grab at any project to help get through the day. But a lot of the time, I was just going through the motions. It was all pretty drab." Understanding all too well, Dana nodded again and looked expectant. For no reason at all, her instincts were screaming, Female ahead. Red alert. Time for the dump. Looks like my work here is done, she thought. Have a nice life. Tapping her fingers restlessly on her knee, she wondered when she'd become so fond of black humor. "But you...you got me to wake up and smell the coffee," he said, burying himself deeply in cliché. "I'm...I'm ready to get on with my life. I can't brood about my broken marriage forever. It's time to...move on, put the past in perspective." He set his cup down and leaned forward, soberly meeting her eyes. "I...I, shit this is hard," he stammered. Uh-oh, she thought. I'll be lucky if I'm not on the next flight out of here. He probably has a date with Ms. Right tonight. And how does that make you feel, Ms. Scully, she asked herself. You bristle when Diana "the foul one" Fowley slithers onto the scene. Are you green-eyed? Enraged? No emotion presenting itself, she cautiously examined her feelings, so newly awakened that she felt like a first-grader when it came to reading them. She tended to stumble, hesitate, or get it wrong. Too many years out of touch with her inner self had made communications difficult. Hurt, she decided. Yes, hurt. The most prominent reaction was hurt. And maybe a tinge of betrayal. What was she--a resuscitation service? On the other hand, she'd just been contemplating how John had brought a whole new life to her, so maybe she should just shut up and be grateful for what the relationship had done for both of them. She *would* miss him though. He filled large gaps in her life, and she'd grown used to talking with him on the phone. Having a confidant was a novel pleasure, one she'd grown to depend on. To have a trustworthy person she could expose pieces of her soul to...to lose that support...she felt depression descending. "What I'm trying to say," he said with a strained smile that made Scully's heart sink further, "is that I've come to see...that I need a woman in my life. I want a relationship. You've made me see that, Dana. You've shown me what's been lacking, for years, even before the divorce." She set down her cup and leaned back. She decided to be generous and try to make things easier for John. "And you've done the same for me," she said. "I was just thinking how different my life is now." He'll be able to toss me out of his life without guilt this way, she thought. He's too nice for me to lay a guilt trip on, especially since he's given me...the world. Funny, she thought. The last time we were together, I was sure it'd end soon. Just from telling him about a fraction of the weirdass stuff that's happened to me. I remember thinking he'd ease away. Looks like I was right. I didn't expect this to last. But, Jesus, if that's the case, why do I have to keep telling myself that? I must not have expected the end to come so soon after all. I told myself it couldn't last, but I guess I wasn't really listening. Fooling myself, as usual. But at least it looks like he's gonna do this with class. "So, I've kind of reached a moment...a crossroads," John continued, nodding to acknowledge her remarks. "I'm...really taken with you. You know how...I feel about you. I think you are maybe the greatest woman in the world. You are a beautiful person, inside and out. I mean that." Whew, she thought, trying to hold back the dread which was clutching her heart and making her breathe a little faster. This may be the nicest dump in the history of the world. He could write a "how-to" manual for those thoughtless chumps who do this with no finesse. He leaned forward even more. "And I'd like to be with you. But we're not together, and we're not even committed. You say you won't move out here. Or that you can't. Whatever, it's the same thing from my point of view." He paused to stare out the window. He took a deep breath. "Now, in the meantime, I've gotten to know the new woman in my division. Her name is Barbara." Thrown over for Barbie, Scully thought. Maybe we should scrap the "how to dump graciously" book plans. She studied John. He was feeling this deeply, she thought. But he sure was dragging it out. Maybe a little push would help. She was growing so miserable it felt like the fabled Chinese water torture. "So, you've been dating Barbara? That's what you wanted to tell me?" He shook his head. "No, I haven't been dating her. I took her out once. I just wanted to see what she's like. Being with you made me realize that maybe a woman in my own profession would be more understanding about the hours, the stress, you know, all that shit. And it was just a pleasant dinner. That's all. But I think she's a nice woman. And I thought about asking her out again. I haven't. I know we...you and I, I mean...don't have a ...a commitment, but," he paused again. He looked about as miserable as Dana felt. "No, John, we don't," she said. "All we've promised each other is honesty. And I guess you're being honest." She cleared her throat and forced herself to put into words what John seemed incapable of saying. The slowness of his revelations was wearing her down. "You're saying that you'd like to start a relationship with Barbara. And that means our...connection has to end. Right?" She pursed her lips, then attempted a wan smile. He looked up, stunned. "No!" he said. "I don't want to end things with you. You know how I feel about you." "I don't share, John," she said quietly. "I've never liked other kids to play with my toys." She felt for an instant as if she were channeling Mulder. She knew damned well John was not a toy. He was a terrific person who'd changed her life. Why be bitchy now, she asked herself. Because Mulder's right. I *am* possessive. I like to be not just top dog, but the only dog. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was uncalled for. Why don't you tell me what you meant." "I meant," he said slowly, groping for the right words, "that I've come to realize that...I need a woman in my life. On a serious, permanent basis. I've been with you, and I love every minute." He paused, began again. "I've met...another woman. Just met her, that's all. It's really nothing. Just a thought. And it's only because you tell me you can't move out here and try to...to have a real relationship with me. That's what I...." He seemed unable to get his meaning across, but Scully thought she knew where this was headed. "But--oh, shit," he stumbled on. "Here's where we are. I've met her. We ate a meal together. She seems nice." He paused, then offered, as if he thought the information might be of interest, "We didn't even kiss. We shook hands at her door." Scully pondered that. She thought it was good that he hadn't hopped into bed with the first suitable woman who presented herself. On the other hand, since she herself had practically dragged him off to the bedroom after their first date, she felt a bit sluttish. Presumably, she, not he, was the slut here. Just as she'd been in Las Vegas, inhibitions removed. She tucked that one away for later. It deserved some contemplation. "So, you're, what, asking for my permission? For me to...release you from our...uh, relationship? You want my blessing?" Oh, there it came again. The bitter edge. The years with Mulder had sharpened her tongue as well as her mind. She shut up, afraid her hurt--which she had no right to feel--would cause her to wound John. She didn't want to do that. She was determined to end it well. The whole relationship had unwound with the perfection of a dream. Why blight it at the very end? "No," John repeated. "I don't want to let you go. I don't feel anything for Barbara yet." He looked her fully in the eye with the determination of a man who'd gathered his courage to have his say, even if the lion pounced and destroyed him. "I want you to...to step up to me and say that you *will* commit to...to being here with me. Not necessarily today or tomorrow. But at some specific time, you'll move out here. See if it'll work. Put it to the test." He moved to her side and sat close, clasping her limp hand. She was flummoxed, boneless, limp in body and mind. Paranormal sights she had faced with equanimity. A man who wanted to commit to her--one she admired deeply and had great affection for--the very notion was enough to tear her to shreds. Little pieces of her psyche seemed to be whipping around the room, swirling, diving, soaring, plummeting. She was in flight again. She stared helplessly as he continued, "Your work is important. I realize that. But there must be some limit to how long you're needed. If you promise me you'll come out here in, say, a year's time, I'll wait for you, Dana. You name the time period, and if it's reasonable, I'll be here. I will not so much as look up the skirt of any other woman in that time. I'd be happy to wait, seeing you whenever we can manage it, talking on the phone the way we do now." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. He pulled her into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes remained glazed, but her mind was buzzing furiously. He wanted her. He was willing to commit. Willing to commit without knowing the maelstrom that whirled within her. He didn't even know that her mind was not her own, that someone, somewhere, whoever was in charge of chips, could force her to do anything at all. Was he too innocent to subject to her fucked-up nature and life? Or was this her salvation seated beside her, holding her so tight she was having trouble breathing. The man who could lift her from the frightening realms of global conspiracy and help her experience "normal"? He might be her only shot. Who else wanted a sterile, workaholic woman who'd been abducted by mysterious forces and infected with cancer? Who might have children turn up from time to time. Poisonous children with green goo instead of blood, children doomed to die agonizing deaths. In addition to his amazing tolerance for her past, he was a really nice guy. A gem, as she'd thought. She was shocked by his willingness to accept her as she was, every imperfect bit of her. She continued to sit, dazed and stunned, feeling like a puddle that had soaked into his couch. She'd been girding herself to be dumped, not to be practically proposed to. She'd realized earlier that she was--for once--happy. With John, could this become a permanent state, not a temporary gift? Was such a state attainable? ("Nature's first green is gold/ Her hardest hue to hold.") Dana Scully opened her mind and considered the possibility. Her body, meanwhile, leaned into the shelter of John's arms. And shattered. ------------------------------------------- --------------------------- "Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day." To her surprise, Scully was wracked by deep sobs. John gathered her up and pulled her even closer. Her tears soaked his shirt, and her skittery mind recalled crying and bleeding all over Mulder not too long ago. "It's okay, sweetie," he soothed. "Oops, I forgot. Sorry. You said not to call you sweetie." "It's okay," she forced out, sounding like a wounded eight year old. "Call me sweetie." Then she buried her head and began another round of weeping. Why? For so many years, she had forced herself to tamp down her feelings, stay objective, do the job. Then, terrible things happened to her. To repress the intense pain of those events and enable herself to function, she'd had to act as if they hadn't happened. *Think* as if they hadn't happened. As time passed, her feelings became as dangerous as gun powder tamped in the base of a cannon. In the past months, as she renewed acquaintance with herself and her emotions, she could feel the heat of her surpressed nature inching closer to the carefully stored explosive. Now the flame had made contact, igniting the repressed fuel. BOOM. It shot into the air, a thunderous release that echoed and set off shudders severe enough to register on the Richter Scale. Dana Scully was now exposed to open air. For better or for worse. "Can you tell me why you're crying?" John asked, finding a handkerchief and trying to push it into the grasp of her fumbling fingers. Good question, she thought. Maybe it was the sheer relief of being wanted by someone. Of *knowing* that she was valued. By a wonderful man who opened himself to her. Who *offered* himself to her, pretty much on her terms. It was so touching, so flattering. Gratifying. *Thrilling.* After at least a year of thinking of herself as irreparably damaged goods, as someone slated to be the object (not the subject) flayed by the Consortium in their sporadic efforts to bring Mulder to heel, she was now regarded--no, prized!-- as a woman desirable for herself. "You've made me happy," she sobbed, wiping at her eyes. Envisioning her red, swollen eyes, streaked makeup, and bulbous nose, she wondered if John wished he could take back his words. "I didn't think anyone would want me," she said, trying to regulate her breathing. He smiled and pushed her hair back. "Believe it or not, I understand. I mean, I don't see why *you* feel that way, because I can't believe you haven't been pursued by half the men in the universe. But *I've* certainly felt like a loser, from way before the divorce." He turned up her wet face to meet her eyes. "I'm even having a hard time believing that what I said made you cry," he confessed. "I was afraid you wouldn't take me seriously." "Oh, I do," she said. She finished mopping her face, regretting the streaks of makeup left on his handkerchief. "But I can't believe you...you want me. All that weirdass stuff we talked about." She pulled herself together. "The sterility, for instance." She studied him, a still youthful man who clearly loved being a father. "Is that really something you could accept? You love kids. I'd think you might want to have more, eventually. And you know that's...impossible for me." She felt a new wave of sadness pass over. This release-of-feeling stuff was throwing her off balance. She was besieged from every side by fugitive, unexpected emotions. Her stability had vanished, and she felt she was floating somewhere in space. It was distressing; it was exhilarating. "Luckily, I have a child," he said. "And yes, I did think about your sterility. I'm not stupid or dense. Or naive. If it turns out that we want to be together, to...to marry, we can go on from there. Either we decide to stick with just each other. Or we can look into adoption if we both decide that's what we want. There are options. The important thing is making the decision to be together." The ball was in her court, she realized, spotlighted so brightly that she could read the serial number. "I can't answer without thinking," she said, caressing his face. "Presumably, you thought about this for a while before raising the issue with me. Well, I need time too." She stared into the distance, unseeing. "We live so far apart. You're asking me to relocate, change my entire life, to come here and ...and try to *ascertain* if there's really anything between us." He nodded. "Yeah. I realize that. I can only say that I think there's a good possibility there is. And you know, Dana, there aren't any guarantees anyway. I mean, I got married, and that was a commitment. I expected to be married forever. Let's face it--there aren't any sure things. So I just thought I'd say what was in my heart." He gave a rueful head shake. "What did I have to lose? At best, you say yes, and I'm really, really happy. At worst, you tell me to get lost. But at least I know where I stand. Now I wanna know what you think." He raised his finger to her mouth to prevent her from speaking. "No, not right now. Think about what I said. Do you want to give this a shot? If you do, what's a reasonable deadline for you to move out here? Think before you answer. Okay?" Dana pulled herself from his arms and leaned forward, elbows on knees. Finally, she looked up. "Yeah, it's okay. You've taken me by surprise." She smiled. "To put it mildly. I've always expected us to just drift apart. I've been thinking of us all this time as...as wonderful but... temporary. So I need to...to think, as you say." -------------------------------------- They sat, bodies touching, in a jazz club, sipping wine and listening to an intricate, rich quartet. Dana still felt dazed. A very real part of her was tempted to say, Yes, I'll be out in sixteen months. If we can't uncover the invasion plans by then, I might as well die happy with you. John was a good man. She knew that their sporadic meetings hadn't let her get to know him in that everyday, I-am-so-tired-of-your-foibles way that's necessary in an ongoing relationship. It was possible that with closer living conditions, they would find each other irritating, boring, or just not worth the effort. Familiarity *could* breed contempt. But breakups also happened to people who *did* have ample time to get acquainted. Look at Ellen and Larry. Ellen *knew* him, until he discovered he hadn't really known himself and his own tastes. Right now, he was happily ensconced with a male roommate, and Ellen was raising two kids by herself, knoshing like there was no tomorrow and so bitter that Dana suspected she was on the lookout for a voodoo doll. Since life didn't come with guarantees, John's idea held many attractions. Among them were the prospect of love, sex, emotional intimacy, and a life closer to "normal" than the one she was leading now. An end to loneliness, that sounded tempting. She *wasn't* lonely now, but that was mostly thanks to John. She knew that if he walked out of her life, if things with Mulder fell apart again, which was likely in their waxing and waning relationship, she could become emotionally isolated again. And John wanted her, a fact that had amazed her at first, evidence of the pathetic state into which she'd fallen. She'd been a strong, vibrant young woman when she first entered the X-Files office. How costly those six years had been, physically and emotionally. Somewhere along the way, her self-esteem had shriveled and she had subjugated her needs. But these past months had made her realize she needed to feel desire and to feel desired. A pattern her subconscious has selected and acted on in Vegas. Professional accomplishments were no longer enough. Yet the life she was leading now still exerted a pull. It seemed irrational to consider its attractions, since it had brought her to the brink of lunacy, or at least catatonia. However, there *was* (1) the work and (2) Mulder. The work was vital. If she didn't believe that, how could she bear the sacrifices it had exacted from her over the years? Saving the world sounded grandiose, even delusional, but she believed that those were the stakes, far greater than any she had encountered in Vegas. She couldn't abandon her mission if she thought her talents could make a difference. She'd always admired those who sacrificed personal satisfaction to the greater good. For her, that was the essence of heroism. And there was her partner, the one she had resolved she would not abandon. Nearly everyone else in his life had done so, leaving him cynical and bitter whenever he neglected to paper over his feelings with quips and sheer brilliance. The Mulder who had driven her away, who had made her doubt herself and his regard for her, had been in abeyance these past weeks. Sometimes, she caught glimpses of the Mulder she knew at the beginning of the quest, when optimism was possible and their lives consisted of adventure instead of torture. And the night they played baseball under the stars...she had felt an almost mystical closeness with him. Could she walk away without feeling she was leaving part of herself behind? Maybe even the best, most noble part of herself? And could she do that to *him*? You made me a whole person, he'd told her in an unguarded moment. Whether or not he'd been truthful, she knew that to extricate herself from their entangled webs of gossamer and steel would be painful. For her, certainly. For him...she believed it might be horrendous, much more than he would admit. He was annoying, to put it mildly. A pain in the ass, but for the most part, he was *her* pain in the ass, and she didn't know if she could say to him, with whom she had shared so little of her inner self yet so much of her essence, So long. Have a nice life. Tears formed at the prospect. She tightened her hand in John's, and he moved his finger over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. She thought she could feel the whorls of his fingerprint, etching the tender skin, marking her as his territory. He pulled her hand to his mouth. His lips pressed warmly against her fingers, her palm, her wrist. He pressed his teeth to her palm, causing her to catch her breath. "Let's get out of here," she whispered. Leaving their wine unfinished, they crept out in the middle of a very fine jazz set. They rushed back to John's, chilled by unseasonably cool, wet weather, but warmed by desire. Another place, another springtime, Dana thought, as they hurried through the streets, huddling close to escape the chill breeze coming off the water. She recalled that through her haze of introspection on the ride from the airport, John had mentioned that snow fell just outside the city a few nights ago. However cold it got, she knew they would manage. The fireplace warmed them, as did their brandy, then their passion. With few remaining clothes, both were flushed as firelight flickered across their tangled bodies. The term "naked pretzel" made a brief foray into Scully's mind, but she quickly repressed it. "Take my hand," she whispered. "I'll take any part of you you want, but why your hand?" "I want to see if you can turn me on with just that...that kind of impersonal body part." She smiled, cat-like, and licked his ear lobe. "A test, of sorts." "Is it a fair test if you're already turned on," John wondered, clasping her hand and intertwining their fingers. He squeezed, then rubbed their palms close. The friction generated a fierce heat. He pulled his hand away slightly, freeing his thumb to draw intricate patterns on her sensitized palm. He ran his thumb nail into the center of her palm, circling like a suggestive drill, then gave each of her fingers its own private message, thorough and sensual. "You passed," she said, returning to his ear and licking around the outer shell. She nipped at the lobe, then touched her tongue to it. "You know," he growled. "This isn't fair. I have this hand to work with, and you get to...to trifle with my ear. That's a much more sensitive area." Dana drew back to study John, watching the flickering flames paint his face in a chiaroscuro. She bent her head to his chest, tasting his nipple, feeling his muscles tense, then looked up. "Ever done it standing against a wall?" He shook his head and pulled her up his body to bury his tongue in her mouth. It was hot and plundering, and she lay back, passively accepting his thrusts, feeling heat permeate her being. The fireplace had served its purpose; by now, she could generate enough heat for the whole apartment. When he paused in his explorations, she could hardly speak, but she did manage to gasp, "Want to?" The fire reflected in his eyes. Flames danced, hot and compelling. He looked away from her, seeking out a piece of wall with no pictures or nearby furniture. He nodded toward a blank space to the right of the fireplace, then got up and moved a chair and lamp away from the vicinity. Stripping off his underwear, he looked over at Dana, lying on the couch like a maja, albeit one still wearing underpants. His smile was gentle, loving. She tucked the scene into her memory like a photograph in an album, marking it as one she wanted to keep. A beautiful man, bronze and glowing in the firelight, with an erection that made him appear aggressive and forceful, yet softened by a gentle smile and glowing eyes that marked him as her lover. She returned his smile as she rose to slip out of her underpants. She twirled them around her finger, stripper-style, flipped them over her shoulder without breaking eye contact with John, and sashayed to the wall to join him. Strippers! Walls! Was the stuff still in her bloodstream, she thought. No problem. "I think I get the wall," she said. "You haven't done this either?" She shook her head. "Always wanted to though." Her voice was low and husky, cracking with desire. "And you look like a man with...strong walls." He laughed. "Well, we'll see. Let's see if you're ready for this, uh, enterprise." He pulled her close to him, his penis bobbing hot against her tummy. She reached around him to run her hands from his shoulders to his thighs, caressing, squeezing, pinching, running her nails into his flesh from time to time, determined to cover all the available territory. His earlier words, so surprising and gratifying, had softened her, made her feel like putty in his hands. At the same time, knowing of his desire for commitment had made her confident, awakening a predatory streak. She felt like possessing every inch of him. He broke away, leaning down to catch her nipple between his teeth, first licking, then sucking, then pulling away, elongating it. "Hey," she said. "You want me to do that to your penis?" He let go. "It reminded me of my bubblegum days," he explained, sending both of them into gales of laughter. It occurred to her that if she agreed to move out here, they could do this all the time. He was sexy; he was fun. She was almost weak-kneed with desire for him. What the hell was standing in her way? Her inclinations, her ghosts, some dark undercurrents she didn't feel like examining. She ran her hand down his penis, bent to run her tongue over its head. "Have a condom?" she murmured, caressing the ridge of his penis with the tip of her tongue. "Not on me," he said, gently disengaging her mouth. Soon he was back and sheathed, backing her against the wall. "You can't get pregnant, right?" he asked, bending over to lick the tender skin beneath her ear. She raised her head, letting it rest against the wall, offering him better access. "No, of course not. Are you trying to say...um, yes, that's a good spot. That you know you're disease-free?" He raised his head to look into her eyes. "I've had regular tests for years. It's part of my job requirement. And you're the only woman I've slept with in about a year. Anyone before that, I used protection. I told you I wasn't much of a success as a bachelor. Remember those guys on the old Saturday Night Live- -the wild and crazy guys? Well, I might have been crazy but I'm sure not wild!" "I'm clean too," she said, stripping off the condom. "I prefer your nice warm skin to the touch and smell of latex. You've got a whole lot better texture." She ran her hand up and down his penis, feeling the ridge, the softness of the skin. "Well, it's no secret that men don't like to wear gloves for this," he gasped. "But if you want to do this against a wall, I suggest you, uh, unhand me. I haven't come for a while, Dana. Watch what you're doing." She let go and pressed her back firmly to the wall, looking up at him with eyes that were huge in the firelight. She reached for his head and pulled it down, assaulting his mouth. She thrust into him freely, using tongue and teeth, her mouth wide open. It was good to have a regular lover, one she knew well enough to trust with her passions, and one who knew what pleased her the most. One she could attack like this, because they knew each other's ways by now. There was nothing scary, yet because they'd only been together for a short time, there was plenty left to discover. And explore. She wished she could stay like this forever. Just before sex was maybe the best time, she thought. So hot, filled with anticipation, picturing what's going to happen, how it's going to feel--she felt like a kid at Christmas. Of course, the sex act also had its strong points, she realized, as he grabbed her ass and lifted her up to the right height for his penis. She obligingly twisted her legs around him, bracing herself against the wall and clinging with arms and legs as he tried to maneuver her to the correct angle. He poked at her and missed. "This isn't as easy as I thought," he admitted, pulling his mouth from hers and looking down to survey the situation. "Let me," she said, unwrapping one of her arms from his neck and reaching down to adjust his aim. "Interesting angle," she observed, in a moment of scientific detachment. "I think the trick is to hold me up, yeah, like that. And now, lower me...yes," she ended with a hiss. "Oh, wow, that feels good," she breathed. "Very, very good." She tightened her legs around him, squeezing him internally and enjoying the feeling of fullness. "Am I too heavy for you?" John had his eyes closed. She wasn't even sure he'd heard. He looked as if he were concentrating on feeling every sensation to be had. Even off to the side of the fireplace, the flickers kept lighting then shadowing his face, which made it appear more mobile than it was. "John?" His eyes flicked open. "Dana?" "Want to, uh, move a little?" "Sure," he said. He pressed her back firmly against the wall and began a slow thrusting rhythm. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, wanting to feel everything, free all her senses. The rasp of their bodies, the crackle of the fire, the pace of their breathing, the occasional groan--the sounds flowed into her consciousness, blurring together and forming a comfortable but stimulating backdrop. Behind her eyelids, the fire still cast shadows, and as her head bumped against the wall, little flashes of color dotted the inside of her lids. Odors. She could smell the smoke from the fire, a wood that smelled different from the ones used in East Coast fireplaces. There was brandy on John's breath, simultaneously sharp and mellow, and the pungent odor of sexual arousal. A heady combination. Her body. Her skin. Internally, heat and moisture gathered; the friction seemed to be enough to set off sparks. Each stroke was like a gentle sword, warm and sharp. "The sword outwears the sheathe," from Byron, entered her mind. She could go on forever; he had limitations. But his actions showed no awareness of any limits. He was pushing harder, faster. His breath heaved and she could feel his moist chest against her nipples. She ground her nipples into him, eager for every bit of contact. Her head thumped harder against the wall, and her back thudded against it in rhythm with John's movements. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She opened one eye to see beads of sweat gleam in the firelight on the arm that wrapped around his neck. The thumps, the thuds, speeded up, became louder, more jarring. She lifted her head away from the wall, not wishing to be concussed, but her shoulders and ass were still colliding with the plaster at considerable force. It excited her, the jarring action, the heavy sounds, the added stimulation to the flesh on her back. To be sitting on nothing, to be having sex in the air--what a great idea, she thought. She could feel her interior muscles twitching, she thought a spasm was near, and her breath shifted to rapid pants. She felt John's breath huffing onto her shoulder, fast, uneven, very hot. And then he stopped. She opened her eyes, shocked that the journey toward fulfillment and rich sensation had halted so abruptly. "What's wrong?" Still holding her in place, he edged away from the wall. "I'm hurting you. You're gonna be covered with bruises." "It's all right," she whispered. "Go on. I was liking it." "I can't," he said. "I...I just can't hurt a woman." He leaned over her shoulder to rest his forehead against the wall, his breathing still rapid and his body oozing sweat. "My legs are getting tired anyway." She pulled at his head until they faced each other. "Apparently," she said, "this wasn't one of my brightest ideas. How about we lie in front of the fire? I'll be on top this time. Sound good?" He stared into her eyes for a long moment, nodded, then leaned in for a gentle kiss. Her interpretative powers sharpened by years of Mulder-reading, she would have bet Vegas-type money that he was afraid she was a masochist. She wondered if she was. Why else would she have stayed with....None of that, she told herself. You have John *inside* you. You are engaged in an act of intimacy. Nonetheless, she thought, as they rearranged themselves on the rug in front of the fire and she began moving atop him in an effort to get them back to where they'd been when they'd left off, she had probably discovered her answer to John's question. ("So Eden sank to grief,/ So dawn goes down to day.") ------------------------------------ -------------------- "So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay." Dana Scully sat in the dank apartment, staring out the large window that faced the sea. Choppy waves pounded the shore, pulling in piles of brown bulbous seaweed that were gradually taking the shape of a human corpse. Can't get away from the work, she thought. Hah. Can't get away from anything. Her bare knees were pulled up to her chin. Clad only in John's shirt and her underpants, she wrapped her arms around her legs. She felt compressed and wondered if she was subconsciously presenting a small target. Or if she felt not expansive, but contracted, retreating into her world of isolation. The song she had selected from John's world-class music collection was an old one, from the first Leonard Cohen album. His voice was awful, she thought, but he sounded so sad, so sincere. His poetic, angst-ridden moans fit her morning mood. The title, appropriately enough, was "Winter Lady." Yesterday she had been a sunny child of spring. Today her bones were chilled, and the overcast, chilly day suited her perfectly. Springtime is a season of many moods. Not all days are bright and warm, holding out promise of a bright future. Some harken back to the bleak bare trees and murky skies of winter. "Traveling lady, stay awhile, Until the night is over. I'm just a station on your way, I know I'm not your lover." John walked in, holding a bag of fresh fruit for breakfast. He stopped, seeing at the pale figure huddled on his couch and hearing the words of the song. "Oh, why are you so quiet now, standing there in your doorway? You chose this journey long before you came upon this highway." "I think I know your answer," he said, his voice uninflected but his face grim. He set the bag on the kitchen table and returned to the living room. "Something tells me I'm a temporary highway, and the road is coming to a dead end. Did you always know you'd chosen a different journey?" He loomed over her, hands on hips. "Was I always out of the running?" He turned and paced across the room. "You might have told me, Dana. You didn't have to...to enter my heart if I never had a chance." She shook her head. "I've never chosen," she said. She continued to stare out the window. "Until yesterday, I didn't realize what the choices were." She looked up at Kresge. "You've made me so happy." Tears welled in her eyes. "Come sit with me," she said. He hesitated, then sat beside her. He propped his feet on the coffee table and reached for her hand. Her fingers entwined with his. "Am I right?" he asked. "That you're not willing to..." He broke off and sighed. "To commit? Even in the future?" She stretched out her legs beside his. "I love you," she said. "And those aren't words that cross my lips very often. I'd like to give you everything you want because...because I love you and you are the best." He closed his eyes and let his head drop against back of the couch. "In a different tone, Dana, your words would thrill me. But for some reason, I...dread hearing what you'll say next. I don't see why those words make me so...apprehensive. Cause I've always been silly enough to think those words would...make me happy. Normally, they would, right? But I'm getting some, uh, very bad vibes here." He was right, she thought. She had managed to poison what should be a joyous occasion. But she owed him the truth. She couldn't let him go on, thinking he knew and accepted the worst about her. She needed to present him with the entire package, even if that meant she'd never see him again. As it surely must. She turned and pressed a kiss on his cheek, ran a hand across his chest. She was already regretting his exit from her life. He'd been so good for her, and she--as much of her as she'd let him know--she'd been good for him. But they could go no further without his having full knowledge. "Maybe if you knew the whole story. I'm a time bomb, John, waiting to go off." "More weirdass shit?" he asked. "There's stuff you didn't tell me?" He opened his eyes and squinted into hers, still very close. His eyes held so much apprehension, she was sure that this would be the end. She nodded. "I almost died of cancer," she said. "Before I got the cancer, I'd discovered a chip, a tiny chip even smaller than a contact lens, which had been implanted in the back of my neck without my knowledge. I had it removed and examined, but I didn't find out much about it. Later, I discovered other women who'd been...taken, abducted, whatever you want to call it. They all had chips too, and they'd removed them." John sat up and paid close attention. "And?" The fear in his eyes, she noted, had been replaced by curiosity. "They all died of...of cancer. I was on the verge of death myself when several things happened. I had some radical treatments, I returned to my religion, and...and Mulder somehow found a new chip. I had it implanted." John looked thoughtful. "So it's maybe a piece of new technology that offers a cure for cancer. As long as the chip is there, you're going to be okay?" Hope seemed to be returning to his face. Too bad she had to continue the story, she thought. Here's where I really freak him out. He'll be running out the door before I'm finished. "I don't know. I really don't. But there *is* a really frightening aspect to this. Last year," she paused for a breath, nearing the part she knew he wouldn't believe, that would turn him away from her forever. "I found myself in a place I didn't remember going to. At a bridge hundreds of miles away. And most of the other people there, people who also had chips in their bodies, were charred beyond recognition. Something in the chip...apparently it can...there seems to be some sort of control mechanism." Spit it out, she thought. Confess that you can lose control of your body anytime someone somewhere programs you to. Tell him you've lost your free will. Come on. Get it over with. "So, I can be controlled. And after that episode--" she broke off again. She tried to hold his eyes, make sure he understood what she was saying. Give him a chance to believe her words. "I, I don't know how I lived. So many were burned. But I had no memory, so I went through hypno-regression." "Isn't that a bunch of bullshit?" Kresge asked. Apparently, he was not so shocked that his brain had deserted him. A good cop, he was listening to her story carefully, probing for holes. "I've heard that people will say anything the quacks want them to." "I always thought that too," she said quietly, still gazing into his eyes. "But I listened to the tape, and I didn't see any reason to doubt that what I described was at least what I *thought* happened. And I didn't see why I would have made up that particular tale." She hesitated, then thought, here goes. Good-bye, John. It was really great while it lasted. "I spoke of seeing a spaceship. It took a woman away, one who later returned and told us about plans for an alien takeover. I spoke of seeing these...faceless men who could release fire and burn hundreds of innocent people. In short," she sighed, stating the truth baldly, "I believed what is essentially the kind of thing you'd pay eight dollars to see. And I still believe that there are plans for an alien invasion, or...for a very elaborate government plot to deprive us of our liberty." She looked into his incredulous eyes. "Yeah, I know. And now you know. You're looking at a nutcase." She let the words hang in the air, noting that he wasn't rushing to reassure her that of course she was sane. Too much to hope for, she admitted. He looked stunned. She might as well complete her explanation. "And you should have known that earlier. I'm sorry, John. I think I've been afraid to tell you because I knew you'd run as fast as you can. And I was busy...loving all our time together. I feel really bad that I wasn't up front from the start. I didn't mean to get in this deep. Or to get *you* in this deep." She pulled away from him and rose from the couch. She pressed her body against the cold window pane, facing the sea, as choppy and icy as she. She spoke quietly, still facing the sea. She didn't want to look at his face anymore, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. "You know," she said. "We...we ran into each other. And got together...in a pretty unexpected way. Then I thought we'd never meet again. But we kept meeting and...getting closer. But there was never a point where I expected...I don't know," she trailed off, turning away from the window. "I don't know what I expected. I guess I just let myself drift into this because it was so good." She paused in front of the fireplace and gave the dying embers a poke. Crouched over the fire, she continued to speak to the ashes. "And none of it's been fair to you because...because I am either a deluded lunatic or, or someone who can be forced to do anything at all against my will. And not even remember it." She straightened, facing the mantel. "You don't want me." In other words, she thought, seriously damaged goods. It was John's turn to be dazed. "Wow," he said. "I knew there was something strange about the green goo from that guy I chased...and you getting phone calls from your dead sister...and your ova being stolen and used for experiments." He took a breath and buried his face in his hands. "But this. You're right. It's so...incredible. If I didn't know you by now, I wouldn't believe a word." He looked up. "But I do believe you. I don't think you're crazy. In every way but what you've said in the last five minutes, you're one of the sanest people I've ever met. I...just don't know." Dana's tears began to trickle. She was tired of crying. At least when she'd repressed everything, she hadn't spent much time in tears. Now that she'd unearthed her feelings, they were always attacking her and leaving her at their mercy. Was it possible to rebuild the walls that had protected her and smothered her before the arrival of John Kresge on the scene? Oh, fuck, she thought. Why would she want to repress everything again? If she'd gone through the Sleeping Beauty wakeup scene, she was going to damned well stay awake and face the consequences of being an emotional person. Still, she felt bad for springing everything on Kresge. Why, she asked herself, had she waited until he was serious about her to tell him about the insane elements of her life? So he *would* be serious, so she could enjoy the salve to her ego, her starving, affection-craving ego? Shit, she thought. And she felt deeply moved by his immediate response: I do believe you. He was able to say that to her within minutes of hearing the barest outline of her story. She hadn't been able to say that to Mulder in six years, after hearing many details of his sister's abduction. She saw all her inadequacies lined up, well-groomed for a class picture, a large enough group to require bleachers. The front row featured her suspicious nature, her demand for proof of things that couldn't be explained, her lack of trust in a person she knew was trustworthy. If John could have such faith after a brief acquaintance, what did that make her? Depressed, she answered herself, walking back to John. "*What* don't you know?" she asked, sitting down and looping her arms around his neck. "Where we go from here," he muttered. He looked up. "Dana, this has shocked me. I guess that's obvious, huh? I really don't know what to say." She kissed his lips gently. "Good-bye? I suppose that's where we're headed." "Maybe," he allowed. "Oddly enough, I think I could get used to a lot of what you told me. But to know you can be controlled by...someone or other. I can't let my daughter...." He trailed off. "I know. I wouldn't either," she said. "Go date your fellow detective. Or, if she doesn't work out, find another woman in law enforcement. You've got so much to give, and you're...you're an incredibly fine man." She kissed him again. "I don't want them," he said, smiling sadly and leaning down to nuzzle her neck. "I want you." "Wishful thinking on both our parts," she said. She ran her fingers through the short hairs on the nape of his neck. They felt soft and wispy. He lifted his head. "Even without this, would you have left him? I thought he'd be the obstacle, not a chip in your neck." She thought about it, refusing to pretend not to know who Kresge was talking about. "Maybe," she said. "It would depend on how I felt about you. And," she continued in a low voice, "on how I felt about him." "You love him?" Since they were likely saying good-bye, and their only vow to each other had been to be honest, Dana searched her heart. It was a question she needed to address for her own future, anyway. Mulder, said her black-humor voice, was the only man in the world who would want her *because* of a neck implant. "Sometimes I do," she said. "He exerts an...incredible influence over me. That can be good, or it can make me...angry, resentful." She looked into John's eyes and saw understanding and interest. "I...I like to be independent," she said. "He tries to exert too much control over my life, sucks me into the X-Files, thinks I should be ready to live them twenty- four/seven, just the way he does. Sometimes, he infuriates me by taking me for granted. I could gladly strangle him when he doesn't share information, doesn't treat me like a partner." "After six years?" She nodded. "He's secretive," she repeated. "And sad. And bitter. But, on the other hand, he's gone to the ends of the earth to save my life--literally. He'd die to save me; I *know* that. He once said he thought he couldn't go on with the X-Files without me, that he owed me everything. Even so, he urged me to quit while I can still get out of the line of fire. While there's still a chance to have a life." She thought for a bit. "And if I asked him for help any time, any place, he'd be there." She paused. "It's like there're so many undercurrents. You know?" "Not really, but I'll listen if you want." He continued to hold her, gently stroking her back. Now that she couldn't have John, she felt totally in love with him. Perverse creature, she thought. She wondered again if she was still feeling the aftereffects of being drugged. Her level of amorousness was still off the charts. She kissed him again. "You are...too good. You listen, you understand, you say what you mean. Mulder will listen but act as if...as if he hasn't heard a word, or sometimes he just plain...refuses to hear what I say. He seldom says anything directly. He's probably afraid of rejection, so he's learned to make wisecracks instead of saying straight out what he wants or needs. He's incredibly self-absorbed. I think he'd walk over corpses to get to the things he wants, get the information he needs." John thought over what she'd said, continuing to stroke her back. "It sounds as if you have...I don't know...a lot of hang-ups about the guy. Of course, I've always sensed that, ever since I met you," he smiled. "It's as if he's your hero and your tormentor, all in one. In my humble opinion as an amateur shrink, you wouldn't be so intense about him if you didn't care. Fire and ice, remember?" He pulled her head onto his shoulder. His hand began combing through her hair. Seduction while telling me how much I care about another man, she thought. Kinky! She burrowed into his shoulder, feeling warm and loved. "And a few weeks ago, when you caught the virus in Chicago, who'd you call? To go spend several days in his bed, uh, it indicates a...a high degree of trust of your part. And, much as I hate to admit it, a lot of caring on his part. Guys, in case you didn't know it, usually don't take in puking sick people unless we *really* like them. You know?" She nodded, wrapping her arms around John's neck. "I know. I do trust him, and I know he'll take care of me. He was great when I was sick. He took care of me after Padgett did his little number too." She thought a few moments. "He's at his best when I'm down and out. If I'm ill. If I'm dying of cancer. Hysterical. If I'm trapped in the Antarctic. He's even able to show affection at times like that. It's when I'm feeling well, and argumentative, and feisty-- that's when it can either be an enjoyable clash of opinions, giving both of us a really nice mental workout. Or it can be he's right, and I'm a stodgy, scientific, unimaginative fool, so he doesn't need to listen." John drew back from Dana so he could see her face. "You know, Dana, you've had six years to get used to the guy. And you obviously admire him, trust him, depend on him." "Yeah, you're right." She smiled at him, feeling not as if she were losing a lover but as though she were keeping a cherished friend. Although, come to think of it, his hands on her back were making some pretty sensual circles. Um, and feel that press, right into the base of her spine. She dragged her wandering mind back to the topic. "I guess it's been really rough the last couple of years. Somewhere along the line, the bond got frayed and stretched. And now it's hard to snap it back into place. It's coming, I think. The last few weeks have been a lot easier." He bent to kiss her neck lightly. She wondered if this was the way he said good-bye. Make it a long good-bye, her new sardonic voice advised. Maybe *he* caught some of the drug left in my bodily fluids, she thought. Because this was the best farewell of her life. The drug in Vegas had made her lose control, just like the chip. Why wasn't she freaked? Either the aftereffects still had her pumped up, she decided, or she could accept a temporary, curable episode. It was the daunting prospect of always being subject to control that tormented her. She hauled her mind back and tuned in to what John was saying. "Because of me, do you think? Maybe he thought you'd always be there, and if he's as self- absorbed as you say, my presence may have shaken him up a bit." She sat up straight, the better to avoid distraction. "It's true, your being in my life did bother him. At first. He adjusted quickly. But yeah. Basically, he started to pay more attention to my point of view right after he found out I was seeing you. I think he's regarded me as his...extension for so long, he couldn't believe I wasn't always on call." John removed his hands from Dana's back and turned to take off his shoes. "And you want him to be there for you too, don't you?" He turned back to her. "Isn't that one reason you don't want to move out here? Face it, Dana, you're really attached to the guy, even when you're at war with him." He shrugged. "Maybe *especially* when you're at war with him. What I can't figure out is why you never slept with him. There's obviously a close relationship. You love each other, on some level or another. Right?" She nodded. "I think you're a terrific amateur psychologist. The truth is, he and I would have been better off to sleep together in the first month of our partnership. Then we'd either be together by now, or have done it and gotten it out of the way. Right now, it hasn't happened and...and we've been together for so damned long. Somehow I doubt if either of us would disturb the status quo, the balance of power, at this point." She thought it over. "Unless something happened to throw our relationship into a new configuration. Some genuine change in one or both of us, or our beliefs, or feelings. Whatever. I can't explain what it would take. But there'd have to be some earthshaking shift in our partnership. Right now, we're frozen in place." "What about us?" he said, unbuttoning his shirt. "We're kind of fluid, don't you think?" She raised her brow. "I thought we were talking kaput, actually," she said. "I thought we pretty much agreed that I'm not a permanent prospect because of my, uh, unpredictability. You're free to go out with Barbara, or anyone else, John. I'm obviously not the woman you'd like to settle down with. I think that's been established." "But that doesn't stop me from loving you, from wanting to be with you," he pointed out. "I don't turn my feelings on and off like a faucet. That's why it's taken me two years to get over my broken marriage." He wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her close to his naked chest. She touched his skin, ran her lips across his smooth shoulder. Apparently, her body didn't adjust easily. It still felt this was the body it wanted to touch. John was still talking, "I've gotten used to sharing my life with you over the phone. We can really talk to each other, Dana. Why stop just because we're not planning to get married in some theoretical future time?" She thought that over and found it sensible. "Great," she said. "Our phone conversations mean a lot to me." But there was one thing she knew she didn't want. "I think once you start dating, we'll lose our closeness since you can hardly tell me about your love life. Well, you could tell me, but I wouldn't want to listen." "But right now, you're my love life," he pointed out. "I love you, you've said you love me. Neither of us is with anyone else right now, so why..." He paused, then rushed ahead. He looked a bit apprehensive. "Why shouldn't we be together until...until there's a reason not to be?" She sighed and ran her hand down his chest. "You know," she said. "You've become my alter ego, I think. That sounds like the kind of rationalization *I* would make." He withdrew from her, placing a good fifteen inches of space between them. "I'm sorry, Dana," he said, looking worried. "I wasn't thinking, I guess. I just figured that our relationship would go on as it is until it...changes. Kind of the way you figured it was when you arrived here yesterday. Has anything really changed, except that we know each other better than we did before?" "No," she said slowly. "You're right. I've always assumed we'd probably drift on until something or other brought...this to a close. I saw it as something good. Great, in fact. But temporary. Until you asked yesterday, I never thought of us...that far in the future." She sighed. "I guess the change is that now I know that you'll be actively looking for someone...suitable, so we live this one day at a time." "Well, now I know that you love your partner," he returned. "And if circumstances changed, you'd become his lover." He tried to smile. "All these discoveries may not be romantic, but they don't make me love you any less. Or want you any less. All that really bothers me is that I probably can't have you with me permanently. And even that could change, if you somehow managed to find out who controls the chip." "Yeah, that would change everything," Scully said. She smiled at John as she began to unbutton his shirt--the one she was wearing. As it slid open, he leaned down to take her breast in his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his head and his back, pulling him close, knowing that their days together were numbered, as they had been from the beginning. As he wrestled with her underpants and she lifted her hips to cooperate, she buried her face in his hair, savoring the scent and reflecting that temporary love was not simply a poor substitute for the "forever" kind, especially since she was cynical about the reality of "forever" love. Temporary love had a value of its own. Even in her own family, although she believed her mother was attached to her often- absent father, it'd been many years before his death since she'd detected passionate glances or gestures between the two. She reached down to help John struggle out of his pants, then cradled his balls in her hand while he struggled to strip off his socks. "Wouldn't want this to look like a stag film," he gasped, finally getting rid of the last sock despite the distraction of having his genitals stroked. Scully looked up from her absorption in his genitalia and asked, "And you think this might look like a stag film?" Viva Las Vegas, she thought. It's gotta be still in my bloodstream. He laughed as he grabbed her hips and pushed her down. "My poor wall will never be the same," he said, and then could speak no more. Several hours later, Scully sat on yet another airplane, feeling that her life remained fittingly up in the air. Forget having her feet on the ground--she'd been kidding herself. Although she had no idea what the future would bring, she still felt pretty cheerful. She was surprised, having expected to be miserable after her bizarre revelations to John. But, as it turned out, little had changed--except she had discovered that John Kresge was tolerant, perceptive, and able to accept the truth, even when it sounded like sci fi. He'd even helped her get her thoughts about Mulder in order, and she was feeling good about the partnership--for the moment. She *did* love Mulder. Why not acknowledge that as a driving force in her existence, hunker down for the long haul, and get comfortable with the ongoing ambiguity? She looked down at her lapel, bearing the tiny silver daffodil that John had bought for her in Chicago. For the moment, springtime remained alive in her heart. Perhaps it was true that nothing gold could stay, but silver made an acceptable substitute. Chapter 8--Revelation (post Field Trip) "We make ourselves a place apart Behind light words that tease and flout, But oh, the agitated heart Till someone really find us out." All quotes in this chapter from "Revelation" by Robert Frost "I don't know what I'm doing here." "You're eating lunch. Note the movement of your jaws." Dana Scully sipped her chardonnay and smiled at her friend Ellen. They were lunching alfresco at a Georgetown cafe, Dana having enticed her friend in from Columbia, Maryland, on a sunny Saturday. "Ha ha," Ellen said, in a voice devoid of inflection. She agitated her chicken salad with her fork. "You know it's the kids I'm concerned about. With all this change, they need me at home to..." "Relax. My mom's there. Ahab wasn't the only captain in the family. By the time you get back, your kids will be wolfing down chocolate-chip cookies, she'll have taught them to knit, and your spice cabinet will be alphabetized. If you're really lucky, she'll have weeded your garden and cleaned out the hall closet." Scully moved her head into the sunshine for a minute, then retreated under the umbrella and dipped into her cream of broccoli soup. "You got a complex, Dana?" Ellen gave her a sharp look. "Mother too high powered for you?" "Sometimes," she admitted. "Good soup. The image of competent, supportive, always coping...uh, superwomanhood can be a burden to live up to, you know?" "I know," Ellen sighed, spearing a piece of celery. "Then you wake up and find it's all a...a mirage, anyway. Your super home...your loving husband. Pah." "Well, that's why I wanted you to come out with me for the afternoon," Dana said. "You're sitting there stewing. Remaining at the scene of the crime, so to speak. You need to get out and do some things for yourself. Don't feel you have to be there every minute for the kids--you need to take care of you." "Yadda, yadda, yadda," Ellen said, crunching a walnut. "This is getting to be a broken record." "Then try listening to it." They ate in the silence of old friends who can exchange insults without giving or taking the slightest offense. Trying not to be obvious, Scully studied Ellen. Bags under the eyes, puffy and gray. Thinned, embittered lips. Hair that had lost its luster and hadn't been styled recently. No makeup except for some hastily applied lipstick. A plump body encased in something flowing and unflattering. With overly large flowers. She winced, knowing that the outward changes in her formerly chic, suburban-matron friend were emblems of inner disturbance and self-neglect. "Did I tell you what Larry asked me before he left?" Back to the topic that was eating Ellen alive--her husband's defection to homosexuality. Dana shook her head and looked inquiring. Oh, yeah, *this* is cheering her up, she thought. What a great idea. "He asked if I'd mind if he invited his new friends back to the guest room, at times when the kids weren't there. Isn't that sick?" "Jesus, yes." Dana was shocked. That Larry, a man she'd had dozens of friendly conversations with over the years, should show such appalling lack of judgment-- and hurt his wife so badly--was harder to believe than some of the things that happened in her work. Ordinary life was...paranormal, she realized. Who needs evil conspiracies? Just by being human, people can do plenty of damage. "Is that when you threw him out?" Ellen nodded and kept eating. When would the weight gain stop? It seemed she stuffed her mouth with food to make up for the large hole left in her life and her trust by her husband's defection. You have emptiness, you try to fill it, Scully thought. Just as I did. Fowley oozes onto the scene, usurping my role, at least to my mind. Mulder does nothing to reassure me. Quite the contrary. He seems thrilled with her and disenchanted with me. Ergo, a hole in my life. Enter John Kresge. Who fills a whole lot of...holes, continued her lascivious inner voice. "How's the divorce coming?" she asked. "Slowly. You'd think he'd feel so guilty that he'd give me whatever I want. Think again." She cleaned her plate and finished her wine. "It turns out he thinks he'll need a lot of money to keep himself and an apartment in a style that'll attract future lovers." She snorted. "Last time I saw him, he was wearing boots. This suburban dentist wearing hipster boots, can you believe it?" Dana smiled. "He's been watching 'Midnight Cowboy'?" "He ain't no John Voigt, let me tell you." Ellen took the dessert menu the waiter handed her and pored over it. "The tira misu sounds good," she muttered. After they'd given their dessert orders, she asked, "What's up with you, Dana?" Ha, Scully thought, remembering the latest adventure in shared hallucinations. She had attended Mulder's wake, thrown a paranoid tantrum in front of the imaginary Lone Gunmen, and watched an imaginary Mulder shoot a fortunately imaginary Skinner. Had Skinner not been an hallucination, Mulder would now be sitting in a genuine cell. Also, she and Mulder had played out their respective roles as believer and skeptic in their own and the other's hallucination, and, for good measure, had engaged in a little role reversal. "If I told you what was up with me, you wouldn't believe it," Scully said. "Let's leave it that I was on a case in North Carolina. The culprit was a large killer fungus that had both Mulder and me in its clutches. We were lucky enough to escape with a few acid burns, which are practically healed. See, you can still see a trace of the burn here, under my hair." She pulled back a lock of hair so Ellen could inspect the small mark beside her ear. "And here's one, too, on the back of my hand. Luckily, they've been healing very quickly. "In the meantime," she continued, seeing that Ellen had managed to focus on something other than her troubles and the arrival of her tira misu, "when I was in San Diego recently, John Kresge more or less proposed to me." Ellen actually halted the rhythmic passage of spoon to mouth and laid down the spoon. "And he's a hunk, right? The one you've fallen for in a big way. Well, don't keep me in suspense. Am I going to be in a wedding? Should I start my diet now?" When no immediate response was forthcoming, she erupted, "Give, Dana!" Scully sighed and tasted her chocolate mousse cake. "It's... not in the cards, Ellen. My life is too strange for him, especially since he has a little girl." She smiled sadly. "I'm not a safe person to get close to, particularly with the chip in my neck. You know." Ellen nodded. "I visited you after you had it implanted, and you were so much better. And later, you said it controlled your actions in some way. Am I remembering right?" "Yeah. And even aside from...from the child and the chip, I'm not sure he's the man for me." Ellen finished scraping every speck from her dish and wiped her mouth. She had made her dessert disappear with the speed of a magician. Scully was still on her second bite. "The last time we talked, you thought he was pretty neat. What happened? Did he reveal his dirty secrets, like Larry? He's gay, a drug addict, a hustler on the side? The kid isn't really his daughter? Her name is Lolita, and that just struck you?" "God, Ellen, you shock me, a hardened FBI agent." Dana frowned. "Your cynicism is getting out of control." "Everyone says that except my shrink. She says I spent too many years being nice and doing things for other people. Now I need to let myself go." "Let yourself go! I think...." She stopped, realizing that her own disillusionment had led her to the same place Ellen was now. In Dana's case, through some quirk of fate and a whole lot of luck, she'd come out the other side, ready to trust her own instincts and actions. But she knew all too well where Ellen was coming from, for she'd been there, if not in equally graphic terms. Maybe Ellen's way was healthier, spewing out the bitterness, not letting it fester inside. Scully had spent years denying the effects of events on her. Ellen's way was probably better. Just unpleasant to listen to. Her cheerful friend had transformed into this bitter, hard woman. Just what I did, she thought. Only I covered it up. Or tried to. "I think you're doing fine," she finished. "Expressing your anger is probably the best thing you can do." She finished her mousse cake and tossed her napkin on the table. "More wine? Coffee?" "Coffee, please. So, Dana. About this proposal. Why *isn't* he the man for you, pray tell? If we can assume that *any* man is worthy, which I kind of doubt at the moment. They're all swine! But this guy sounded fantastic from what you said before." "He is. No question about it. But," she paused to get her words right, "he's ready to settle into a serious relationship now. I'm not. I have work to do here. And, even more important, he's...great." "Oh, what a *terrible* problem." "Cut it out. I'm trying to...to get this straight. He's a wonderful man with all the qualities I thought I wanted. Perfect." She waved the waiter over and gestured for coffee. "Too perfect, I think." Ellen raised a brow. "And that means? You got something against perfection? You don't believe in it? Well, let me tell you. You're right." Dana smiled. "Yeah. He's got faults, I'm sure. He's human. I just haven't spent enough time with him to discover what they are. Which is why it's kind of silly to take the idea of a permanent relationship with him seriously. I don't really know him." "You never really know them," Ellen muttered darkly. Scully ignored her and continued, "Although what I do know of him, I love. Somehow," she frowned, "the fact that I barely know him gets lost when I'm with him. The old hormones take over and everything he says sounds so damned reasonable. He's beautiful. And terrific in bed." She paused to recall some scenes from her mental highlight film. It occurred to her that Ellen had undoubtedly been devoid of sexual highlights for some time, so she dragged her mind back to the subject at hand. "But then, I walk away--well, to be accurate, I fly away--and I start to realize things. Like I've never even met his daughter. What if she hates me? Would he then say, 'It's okay, dear. You'll get to like Dana in time.' Or would he dump me if I didn't win her seal of approval? And what'll he be like after I've spent six months with him rather than 24 hours? Who knows?" She shrugged. "Right now, he's a dream. Really terrific guy. Perfect, as I said. But..." she hesitated, then said aloud what had been playing in the back of her mind since her flight from San Diego. "I...I guess I don't want perfect. That's a false ideal." "You're telling me." Ellen handed the waiter her coffee cup. "No matter how good they look, Dana. Underneath--Jack the Ripper, Mr. Hyde, Conan the Barbarian." Dana laughed. "You may be overstating it, but yeah, they all--I beg your pardon, *we* all--have a lot of annoying habits. He's been great. I love him. I really do. But I can't see myself settling down with him. It's like a dream. When I try to see it in real terms, well, it...just doesn't work. Fantasy, yes. Real life, uh-uh. I wanted to think so. But..." She trailed off with another shrug. She reached for the sugar and spooned some into her coffee. "And your partner? He who gives unnecessary batting instructions to kick-ass ex-infielders? Does he play a role in all this?" She seemed to have left her troubles behind and be returning to the old Ellen, the one who asked hard questions and didn't accept easy answers. The one who probed till she hit a delicate nerve. The one with sharp eyes and a steel mind. Dana stirred her coffee. "Actually, even when I was thrilled with the idea of going out there to be with John, I couldn't quite wrap my mind around not being with Mulder. It's as if I'd be abandoning him." She shook her head. "I guess I realized it then but just didn't want to let the dream die. I thought I was so happy with John. We were sitting in a jazz club, drinking wine, really mellow. He was holding my hand, and I felt loved and wanted...and... hot and horny. But I was still tearing up at the thought of leaving Mulder." Ellen snorted. "And crack investigator that you are, you probably considered that a clue." Dana nodded. "Yeah. Maybe I'm not looking for a perfect man. Just someone whose imperfections I can live with." She set down her coffee and looked at Ellen. "I really have trouble articulating this, Ellen. I...I think I need something more...or less...than the perfect man. There I was, with this apparently perfect man before me, hand out, offering me all. But after the first hour of being shocked and thrilled and grateful, I couldn't see it happening. So, I've got to figure out what it is I *do* need." She gave a rueful laugh. "Okay, Ellen, I admit it. I've been going around for so long with my head up my ass that I'm blinded by the sunlight. But I figure it's time for me to put on some sunglasses and try to see things clearly for a change." She looked up and threw her napkin on the table, beckoning the waiter. "Let's get out of here. Now, about this afternoon. Would you prefer Georgetown? Go downtown to a museum? Walk on the Mall? This is *your* day. Tell me what you want." Ellen re-applied her lipstick, frowning at her bloated face in a small mirror. "What I want? That's easy, Dana," she said. "To go back fifteen years in time, knowing what I know now. You specialize in weird cases. Beam me back fifteen years. Dare ya." Scully read the check and did some quick mental calculations. She started counting out bills. "Beam *me* back seven and it's a deal." She lost count of the bills and picked up the pile to begin again. "The thing is, I wonder if we'd do anything different anyway. Even knowing what was coming." Over the cleared table, they stared at each other. ------------------------------------- -------------------------- " 'Tis pity if the case require (Or so we say) that in the end We speak the literal to inspire The understanding of a friend." "So, would you?" Dana and Ellen were tramping through acres of gardens at Dumbarton Oaks, a beautiful place to be in May. "Would I what?" Dana asked, breathing in the humid air and listening to the tuneful chatter of nesting birds. "Look at those Kousas." "Since when do you know a Kousa dogwood from an apple tree?" Ellen asked, distracted. "I am my mother's daughter," Dana proclaimed. "In other words," Ellen snorted, "she pointed out the Kousas when you were bringing her to my house." "So? Anyway, what did you want to know? You asked me a question." "Nice tulip garden. I wonder what variety that is," Ellen said, kneeling to get a closer view. "My mother would know." Dana looked around, filled with joy. It had been a beautiful spring--outdoors, as experienced in various regions across the country--and in her interior landscape. She felt like a fuzzy little creature that had gnawed its way out of a chrysalis. With a sufficient number of green leaves in her diet, she had a chance to sprout wings and soar into a whole new sphere. Leave the cocoon behind. Take off. Seize the day. For someone who'd felt mired in her past, dragged down by events, it was as if the chains had fallen away. She craved the nourishing air, longed to sail into the blue sky, clear as the sea on a calm day. Ellen brought her back to earth with a thud. "I said, Dana, would you turn back time if you could? If you could turn the clock back seven years, would you? What would you do differently? Remember, what we were saying back at the restaurant? Are you getting senile already?" Dana took Ellen's arm and led her down the path. Azaleas blossomed on both sides and a gentle breeze stirred the bright pinks and snowy whites. "A couple of years ago," she said, "Mulder asked me if I'd change anything. I think I answered too hastily, because I said I wouldn't." She paused. "I think I said I wouldn't change a day." They halted while Ellen searched her bag for her camera. "Over there," she gestured. "To the right. So I get both the pink and the white. That's it." "Of course, a couple of years ago, I didn't know what I know now," Scully continued, obligingly edging to her right. "That was before the cancer, before I found out I was sterile and that my ova were...used, before I had a new chip implanted in my neck, one that can control me." "Smile!" The incongruity of her words and Ellen's command threw Scully into hysterical laughter. "Not that much," Ellen admonished, before joining her in a bout of hysteria, "I just asked for a smile!" They dropped onto a nearby bench, still quivering and whooping. "Well, that was good," Ellen observed eventually. "Should we tell a few jokes about Larry now?" "Might as well." Scully cleared her throat. "Still want a picture?" "Sure. Your face is awfully pink now. This is gonna be a beauty. As you were, please." She fiddled with her camera again. "So," Ellen said, lining up her shot, "a couple of years ago, you wouldn't have changed anything in your life. And now you would. I guess that's how I am too. A couple of years ago, I thought I was happy." She bent her knees, aimed, and pressed the shutter. "Maybe you *were*," Dana said. "Just because you're miserable now, that doesn't mean you were unhappy the whole fifteen years you were with Larry. Here, let me get a shot of you." Ellen dropped the camera back in her bag. "Nah. I'm a blimp. I don't think I'll want any remembrances of this phase of my life. I hope to develop a new brand of selective amnesia that will cover this whole past year." Dana nodded and strolled away to examine a rhododendron blossom. "Look how this is yellowish in the center, but before it opens, the outside is pink. Neat, huh?" "Miraculous," Ellen muttered. "So it was all okay until the cancer?" Dana squinted into the sun, then fished around for her sunglasses. "I thought it was when I answered Mulder's question. But the truth is, I'd give up everything to have Missy back again. She died because...because of my work. You knew that, didn't you, Ellen? So, if I could bring her back, or make it so that she wouldn't die...well, there's no choice. I'd reel my life back six or seven years, and take a whole different path. And I'd have my sister." She put on her sunglasses, covering the bruised look around her eyes. "It's getting late," Ellen said, glancing at her watch. "Let's head back." They turned. "Remember when Missy'd try to make us up? It used to drive your mother crazy to come home and find us looking like floozies." "Yeah. So much of Melissa is coming back to me now. I felt so guilty, I tried to forget her. That was one of my dumber moves." "Oh, I don't know. You've made so many." Dana poked Ellen's ribs with her elbow. Their get togethers tended to be a strange blend of the skittish adolescents they used to be and the intelligent, perceptive adults they grew up to be. The old gestures occurred without thought. It was just the way they related to each other. "I was thinking of buying some...piece of clothing that Melissa would wear," Scully said. "Something that I could wear and think of her. What do you think it should be?" Ellen pondered the question. "A scarf," she decided. "Chiffon, or anything gauzy and light. It'll sway in the breeze, not offer any resistance. Like Melissa. The material should be flowered. Subtly, not like the ones on this odious dress I'm wearing." She thought some more, then added, "And wear a scent on the scarf. Something Missy liked." "Lavender." Ellen nodded. "Exactly. A very fitting tribute." She shifted mood. "While we're dressing in memorial tribute fashion, what do you think I should wear to commemorate my not-late, but oft-lamented husband? A satin corset?" Dana laughed. "Black leather. It's gotta be black leather." She pictured Mulder's black leather jacket and her mind returned to the question of whether she would excise the X-Files and Mulder from her life, given the choice. If it were seven years ago, she'd still have Melissa, her health, and the ability to have children. And a hell of a lot more ideals. She might have been the sort of woman who would meet a John Kresge, be charmed, and ride off into the sunset with that perfect, or, inevitably, not-so-perfect man. Without these last seven years, she thought, John would probably make me happy, and I might be the kind of woman able to make him happy. Maybe. Who knows? She sighed. "What's the matter?" Ellen asked. "I was just pondering life without Mulder," she said. "What it'd be like if I'd never heard of the X-Files. There's a lot of...of stuff...that's impossible for me to have now, you know? But I'd have missed out on...things, too." Ellen nodded. "Vague and incomprehensible as you are, I still know exactly what you mean. Without that lying bastard, I would be minus two children. Even if I'd married someone else, some model of fidelity, the children I had wouldn't be Trent and Jenna. And I wouldn't trade them for anything. Obviously." "It's a good thing we don't have the power to make that decision, isn't it?" Dana said. "I'd hate to have lived my life without Mulder. He annoys the shit out of me, but he's brought me so much." Ellen quirked a brow. Dana wondered if that's how she looked when she was curious. She remembered the two of them at age thirteen practicing in front of the mirror, trying over and over to get just one brow to move. They thought that looked so cool. "Nobody has ever...piqued my...interest the way he has," she responded. "Working with him has exposed me to so much that just...pries open my mind and makes it want to explode. His vision, his way of looking at things." She laughed. "It's contagious. I experienced what it's like to be him on this last case. It's fun; you get to do a lot of shouting and leaping to conclusions." She paused. "And then there's his determination. He won't take no for an answer...well, that used to be the case. But now *I* won't take no for an answer. I just latch on and don't want to let go. It's as if the world depends on it." Ellen took her arm. "Latch on to *him* and not let go?" Dana stopped. "I meant the work, a problem. Sticking to it until the answer, no matter how impossible it seems, emerges. But, yeah, you're my best friend, so I'll admit it. I don't seem to be able to let go of him, either. John Kresge offered me a ticket out, but I didn't think too long about having it punched. Even when Mulder drives me crazy, I can't seem to walk away. Or at least it hasn't happened yet." "I always thought I felt that way about Larry," Ellen said. "We had our disagreements, just like everyone does. But I couldn't conceive of life without him." She dropped to a bench and spread her hands over her face, words trickling from between her fingers. "Even now that he...obviously doesn't want me, I can't seem to take it in. I rant, I ...rail, I...cry, weep, wail. But I...gave him my heart. Now that he doesn't want it....and I don't want him to have it, for Christ's sake...I...I just can't shrug my shoulders and say, 'what a lying bastard,' and walk away." She lifted her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You don't just stop loving someone, Dana," she sobbed. She collapsed into Scully's open arms and rested her head on Dana's shoulder. "Loving is not a choice. That's the thing I'm discovering now. You can't *decide* you don't love. It doesn't...work that way." Scully patted her back, glad that Ellen had lost her brittle edge. She preferred her friend soft and open, not mean and tightlipped. She supposed she could say the same for herself. She thought about her own feelings. After the death of Cassandra Spender and the whole Fowley fiasco, she'd decided that she was through with Mulder, at least on any intimate level. If he couldn't trust her information or her instincts, fuck him. She had removed her heart, she thought, tucked it away in a place where he could trample it no further. She had vowed to untangle their lives, remaining his loyal, professional partner, while looking elsewhere for personal satisfaction. She would no longer subject herself to his careless, hurtful behavior. And the plan had worked, for a while. She felt as if she'd recovered from a long illness, one in which her spirit grew so bleak that she didn't care to nourish it any longer. She had offered it euthanasia, and it had taken to bed and closed its eyes, willing to serve out the remainder of its time without a struggle. DNR. Do not resuscitate, it told her, bitterly yet without energy. But John Kresge wandered into her life, showing her that her spirit wasn't dead, just huddled into a dark corner waiting for a man with a flashlight. Soon, the bedridden phase ended, and her spirit arose, walked, and saw that life was good. It took up ballroom dancing, moonlit walks and mind-blowing sexual encounters. It found that beds are used not just by the dying, but by the living, the vital, the questing. A spirit with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and swaying hips had leaped out of bed, thrown up the shades, and embraced the world again. Now, spirit revived, with more zest than she'd felt in years, she was ready to see what came next. Not huddle up and wait to see what befell her. Not climb into the passenger seat and squint at a confusing road map, offering ineffectual suggestions from time to time. Not follow orders and be a good soldier. She'd obeyed various authorities and nearly ended up dead in both body and spirit. Now, she was going to mount the charger and see where her heart carried her. Even if the charger galloped away from Mulder and the X-Files, so be it. This time, she planned to follow her heart, not just her over-active mind. Ellen was right. You don't *decide* who to love. You go ahead and love. She had gradually come to be on more intimate terms with her heart. She felt she could consult it now; look into it; try to read it. That was the next step, one she hoped to take without faltering. But first, she needed to take Ellen home. "So all who hide too well away Must speak and tell us where they are." After a flurry of hugs among Ellen, Trent, Jenna, Maggie, and Dana, the Scully women finally made it to their car. "Well," Maggie said, waving at Ellen and the kids as Scully backed out of the driveway, "Ellen looks a lot better now than when we got here this morning. Taking her out was a good idea." "Uh hmm." Dana negotiated her way out of Ellen's development. If she weren't familiar with the route from prior visits, she might have needed a trail of breadcrumbs. "How're the kids?" Maggie thought it over. "Doing okay, I think. They're not happy that their father's moved out, of course. And they don't like seeing their mother mope around. I think it might help if...if Ellen could put on...a happier face when the kids are around. It'd make a big difference to them." "Maybe she's doing the best she can. She's not a Scully." Maggie glanced at Dana. "Care to interpret that?" Her voice was soft, not challenging. Scully thought it over. Did she want to engage her mother in a serious conversation, as she'd been trying to do for weeks, or just opt for the usual family routine: that everything was "fine." Well, she'd been crowing to herself that she felt reborn. Let's see, she thought, if I can step out of my good daughter pattern and hold a genuine conversation with my mother. "I mean, Mom, that we were raised to keep a stiff upper lip, at least in public. Expressing our feelings wasn't encouraged, at least as I remember it. Melissa was the only one who managed to avoid the Scully mold." There, the gauntlet was down. Was Maggie going to pick it up? Dana knew her mother possessed the power (or was it the grace?) to make the course of the conversation so smooth that one would never know the issue had been raised. "I miss her so much." Maggie's face was sad, as it always was at any mention of Melissa, and, as usual, Scully felt guilty. Not only had her work cost her sister's life--at a time Melissa was responding to her own plea for help, rushing to be with her younger sister--but her death remained a source of sadness for her mother and the rest of the family. No wonder it had taken her so long to reclaim her memories and love for her sister, she thought. The wound was deep and the scab was frequently disturbed. She misses her too, Scully thought. Nice response. It doesn't change the subject, but it also doesn't address any part of what I said. It even has the benefit of suggesting that maybe *I* should lay off the subject, since Melissa died in my apartment. I'm not playing, Mom. "I do too, Mom. Every day of my life. I'd do anything to bring her back. But even when she was here, she wasn't *here*. She went her own way." She glanced at her mother's profile, which revealed nothing. "You know, Mom, the rest of us were pretty obedient, kind of like a miniature army unit. Missy was a free spirit, ever since I can remember. And I don't think the family encouraged that in her. I seem to recall a lot of discipline being tossed her way. She was always being grounded for something." "She needed to be," Maggie said. She turned to face Dana as they pulled out on to the Beltway. "Kids need discipline, Dana. You know that. Look at the headlines today, with kids mowing down their classmates. It's horrible. And everyone wants to know where their parents were. Well, in our day, we were right there, on the job. Melissa would have been pregnant at fifteen if we hadn't stepped in and grounded her, given her curfews, checked on who she was with. It was our parental responsibility." The last two words sounded capitalized, as if they were sacred text. They reminded Dana of the Winnie the Pooh books she'd loved in her youth. "I just wonder, Mom, if she would have left home the instant she could get away, if she'd had more freedom. I guess what I'm trying to say is that...we were always told to be brave, to do the right thing, to...to...be so damned dutiful!" Scully's voice bounced around the small car, then seemed to echo before silence fell. She decided, difficult as it was not to rush in to fill the empty air, to wait to see what her mother would say. Maggie hesitated. "I'm...I'm at a loss here, Dana," she said. "Surely you don't expect me to apologize for trying to raise responsible kids." She shook her head. "You say you were taught to do the right thing. I don't...I don't see how that's cause for complaint. Can you help me see what you mean?" Dana was ready for that one. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with doing the right thing and being responsible. Of course, those things are important. I'm saying they're...they're just a part of what kids need to learn. I...I wish...I wish there'd been more emphasis on creativity, more encouragement for us to express our feelings. I wish someone had told me it's all right to cry. That it's all right to ask for help. I...think we were made too self- sufficient, if that's possible, and I...I think we were repressed. I remember when Ahab died, I still didn't know if he accepted my career choice. Why didn't I know something that basic? Why couldn't we communicate our feelings to each other?" Again, there was a pause while Maggie studied her hands. They sped along the Beltway in silence, until Dana swung into the exit lane. "I don't know, Dana. It's...it's been a source of...frustration to me, that you don't tell me what's happening in your life. That you didn't tell me about your cancer, but instead had your partner break the news. That day, I felt like the world's biggest failure as a mother. I'd like it if...if you'd tell me things. Confide in me. I want to know what you're thinking." Dana slowed for the exit ramp, then followed the fork that led toward her mother's house. She heard Maggie's voice grow more intense. "And when you *do* come to me, I don't tell you not to cry. I didn't when you were little, and I don't now. I cried with you when you had cancer. I cried with you when you had that...paranoid event and thought Fox had turned against you. I cried with you when you walked to my house the time Fox was missing in the Southwest." She paused. "But you...don't bring your problems to me, the way I'd like you to. Or share in my sorrows." Scully thought that over. She had to admit that what Maggie said was true. Whenever she *did* reach out for her mother's support, Maggie was there--every single time. With open arms and open heart. As she began to speak, her mother continued. "You asked, Dana, and I'd like to finish what I started to say. You brought up Ahab's death. Well, you were at the funeral; then afterwards you shot out of town like a bolt of lightning. Where were you when *I* needed *you*?" It was a good thing she could drive to her mother's house in her sleep, she thought, for she was too shocked to notice where she was going. It occurred to her that she'd spent so much time thinking about her own needs that she'd ignored those of the people around her. She'd been absorbed in what they denied her, not in what she denied them. It was time to look at things from another vantage than her own narrow sights. All her self-probing had been necessary; now it was time to examine her treatment of others. This could get painful, she warned herself. Meanwhile, Maggie's dam of reticence had broken, and words spewed forth. "For that matter, what was stopping you from *asking* your father what he thought of your career? You didn't have to hide your wishes, the fact that you wanted his approval, like a timid little girl." Maggie drew breath and continued, "Communication is a two-way street, Dana. I don't think...I don't think I encouraged repression when you were growing up. You may have interpreted it that way. But in my memory it just wasn't there. I wanted you all to be self-sufficient, sure. But not alone. I never wanted you to be alone." Her voice rang with sincerity, convincing Scully that at least part of the blame for her aloof nature rested with herself. On the other hand, she was tired of blaming herself and didn't see much benefit in it. Now was the time to wipe the slate clean and address the future. "And I don't want to be," Dana answered. "I'm tired of being alone. I've wondered if it's because we moved so often. That we didn't get too attached. We always knew we'd be leaving those friends soon enough. Eventually, it became easier to avoid the sadness of leaving friends by not...having close friends. Until Ellen. When we finally settled down in Annapolis." "That could be, honey. But that's Navy life. It comes with the territory. You can regret every move and raise royal hell. Or you can look forward to meeting new people and getting to know a new city. I tried to encourage you kids to do the latter." She turned fully towards Scully as the car pulled into her driveway and she could unfasten her seat belt. "Remember how we'd explore every new place? We'd get maps and guidebooks. Visit the museums. Drive around the countryside. Invite your new classmates over for parties." She glanced at Dana. "No, I guess that part's forgotten. You remember leaving, right? Not the fun of discovering a new place." Dana nodded. "I'd forgotten the new place routine. You *did* try to ease every move, Mom. But I've wondered if you didn't get fed up yourself. Didn't there ever come a time when you just wanted to say, 'That's it. I'm not going anywhere. I like it where I am'? Did you want to become an itinerant wife? And most of the time you were a single parent with four kids. Was that what you really wanted?" Maggie took her time responding, encouraging Dana to think that she was finally going to get something other than a party line response. She unfastened her own seat belt and watched her mother, still a beautiful woman. "I wanted to give all you kids the best life I could," she began. "I liked being a mother. No, that's not right. I loved it." She paused. "I didn't mind the moving," she said. "I like going places and meeting new people. The only drawback was listening to you kids complain. And working to get you settled in every new place." "And doing it on your own? Living without a husband for long stretches of time?" Maggie nodded. "I wish your father had been there more often. Yes. It would have been better for me, and better for you kids. When he *was* on the scene, he tended to be, uh, quite the disciplinarian to make up for the times he was away. So maybe you're right about you kids being like a miniature army. I think he was especially tough on the boys, always wanting everything to be shipshape." She smiled. "Sometimes he treated them like recruits." She's still being Supermom, Dana thought. What about her life as a woman? She tried again. "Mom? As a wife, how did his absences affect you?" Maggie bit her lip. "I missed him," she said. "If I had the choice, I'd...I'd marry a man who'd be around to share my life. But I...I made the choice to marry your father. So I had to make do with the times he *was* home." She looked up. "It's not easy to be without the man you're in love with. Maybe you know that yourself, Dana. You never confide in me. Is there someone in your life?" Scully stared at her mother's house through the windshield. The house was trim and freshly painted, shipshape, in fact. Every blade of the thick, deep-green grass stood at attention. The azaleas were in their full glory, and the perennial beds were crowded with gigantic white bleeding hearts, large enough to engulf small children, and budding irises, strong and erect. In the background, massive peonies were in bud as well. A vision of fecundity, through the eyes of one who was barren. It occurred to Scully that she was jealous of her mother's ability to sculpt a good life, and to do so for decades at a time, often under difficult circumstances, while being whined at by a crowd of disagreeable children. And she'd done it with grace--and love. Maggie was a mensch, she realized. And she *wasn't* cold or repressed, not in the least. Pictures flashed into her mind from childhood: Maggie screaming at the top of her lungs when pushed to the breaking point by her unruly crew; her tears flowing freely at every significant event, from Bill's basketball championship to Dana's own med school graduation. She'd always been each child's greatest fan. Ahab. He was the reserved parent, not Maggie. Her hero. Her role model, probably to too great an extent. She should have been smart enough to admire more of Maggie's traits in her youth, the way Ahab himself had been. A smart man as well as a rigid one, he had married a woman who possessed qualities he was lacking, one whose warm heart and quick feelings offset his own cooler, less demonstrative nature. He was not unfeeling. Scully had no doubt of his fierce love for his children. He simply showed his feelings less readily and demanded self-discipline in his children. And a sense of duty, of honor, of service. All good in themselves, but they needed to be tempered by the love, the temperament, the zest and energy of a Maggie Scully. She could have been like her mother. She'd just veered in a different direction. Well, now, of course, I can't be like her, she thought. I'd need some ova to get me started. But Mom probably isn't a very good shot, and she'd probably keel over like Langly at an autopsy. To each her own. Her mind drifted back into focus. What had her mother asked her? Oh, yes, did she have someone in her life. Well, yeah, at least two "someones." Let's go with the simple answer, she thought. "I've...I've been seeing a man, a homicide detective in another city," she said. "He's really...wonderful. But probably not the man for me." Maggie nodded. "Why?" Scully tapped the steering wheel. She gave a slight shrug. "I *do* love this man. His name is John." She stared at the clear blue sky. "But I think...I think we're probably going to wind up being friends. Distances, differences, my work," she murmured. She fidgeted in her seat. "Mom, how do you know when you're in love?" She listened to her voice, that of youthful Dana. Higher pitched, revealing the insecurity of one begging for wisdom. She noticed that she was fidgeting like a teenager as well, tapping her fingers, adjusting the mirror. She wondered if an acne attack was about to occur. She glanced at Maggie and saw that she was being studied with the cool, appraising eyes of a mother who understands her child. Or, she shrugged mentally, one who's learned how to give that impression. Maybe they teach it in Mother School. Maggie smiled. "You think I'm a guru? That some magic formula is about to ensue from my lips?" Dana slumped in her seat. "You're my mother," she said, still feeling young and stubborn. "You're supposed to know these things." Jesus, she thought, I've regressed to age five. "I do know some things," Maggie said, opening the car door. "Want to come in?" Scully shook her head. "Got to get going. Thanks." She touched Maggie's arm. "So, what do you know?" Maggie leaned toward Dana and kissed her cheek. "In my experience, honey, if you're in love, you'll know it. All the stuff you've ever read about love in drama, like Shakespeare, well, I think it's true. It makes fools out of...of otherwise sensible people. It can make you giddy, or...or bitter if it's going poorly, or, if it's all going well, ecstatic. You stop being sensible and go with your heart. "Like Romeo and Juliet," she continued, warming to her subject. "Definitely an unwise liaison, by any measure. But love had them in its grip. They couldn't part with each other, at least not willingly. Sensible people would have seen that it was impossible, that it could never work. But they weren't sensible; they were in love. They just felt they had to be together. That's how love is. No matter what anyone else says. All other considerations get swept aside." Maggie turned to get out of the car while Scully sat there thinking. "Did you know that when I met your dad I was engaged to another man?" Scully shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "What happened?" "I fell in love." Maggie laughed. "Fortunately, I acted on it. Or rather, *we* did. I'd hate to have missed out on what we had simply because we let convention stand in our way." Nice, racy picture of her parents, she thought. Who would have thought Ahab would poach on another man's woman? Or that Maggie would betray a man she was engaged to? "What happened to the other guy?" "I guess he got over it." Maggie looked down at her daughter before slamming the car door. "See you, honey. Give me a call, okay?" Scully nodded, deep in thought. Then, she put the car in reverse and headed out of the driveway, oblivious to her mother's cheery wave. Chapter 9--The Road (post Field Trip) "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;" ----quotes from Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" As she entered her living room, Scully noticed that her answering machine light was blinking. Kicking off her shoes, she trudged over to press the button. "Hey, Scully FBI. You out engaged in more weirdass shit? Give me a call when you get a chance." She checked her watch. Nearly six. Mid-afternoon in California. Can't hurt to try, she thought, punching in Kresge's number. He answered. "Hey, Dana. How's it going?" She collapsed on the couch and massaged her aching foot. "Fine. It's a gorgeous day here, bright, sunny, everything in bloom. I was out walking in a huge garden with my friend Ellen. How are things at your end?" "Oh, I'm fine. I had Janet overnight and just dropped her off at a birthday party. Anne's gonna pick her up later, so I won't see her till tomorrow afternoon when I'm taking her to a movie." "Great." She switched feet. "So, what's on your mind?" "You." Scully tried to detect what was behind his tone. A conflict of some kind, she thought. Maybe he feels like he's stuck with me since we sort of split up, then sort of wriggled back into place. He's also probably perturbed about Dana's latest not-so-excellent adventure. Let's start there. "Well, John, if you're concerned about the case in North Carolina, the report is in, the burns are nearly healed, and the dust has settled. The strangest thing to me is how quickly we've healed. It's uncanny." She paused. "So, that's that. What else is on your mind?" "I've been thinking. Yeah, don't tell me; I know. That's dangerous. But I don't think...Oh, shit." He paused, then blurted, "Dana, you know I love you." His voice cracked on his next words: "Don't you?" She hesitated. She could hear an unspoken "but" hanging in the air. Here it comes, she thought. Again. Time to break this off before we've memorized our lines. We've already gone through every reason we can't be together, and I don't want to perform this scene weekly. This is not Broadway and I don't want this to be a long-running drama. Christ, at this rate, it's going to be a farce. Let's ease out of this while we can still be friends. "I believe you do, yeah, I...believe you. But we've tried...tried to look down the road, and there's...no destination in sight. Just endless highway. So, where we left it last time, we're...drifters. And I think that probably doesn't work too well for either of us. It was good...we were good. Hell, it was great, fantastic. We both really needed it, I think. But...now...I think you'd like to know where you're headed. And our situation is just...too uncertain. My guess is that you don't want to drift. Am I right or wrong?" Silence on the other end. "If there's anyone I'd want to drift with, it'd be you," he said softly. "You know how I feel about you." "Yeah, I do, John. And I think we've both reached the point...a place we weren't quite ready to go the last time we were together." And now, she thought, we are. It looks as if we're ready to graduate on the same day. What school was it? Intimacy U.? I think I learned more about my heart from John than I did in all those years in med school. "Maybe we'll never be ready as long as we're face to face," he said. "We'll come together, not split apart." "Was that pun intended?" He paused. "Come together?" He laughed. "I'll always want to come with you, Dana. But, seriously, we've hashed and rehashed all the reasons it won't work. And I've spent the last few days going over and over them in my head. I sincerely doubt that you'll ever be ready to come with me. No pun intended. Jesus, everything I say has something to do with coming." "The sex was terrific, wasn't it?" she said. "I think that's why we couldn't call it quits despite all the obstacles we named." The sex, the closeness, the release of inhibitions, the soaring of body and spirit. It'd been precisely what she needed when not just her spirit but her body seemed dry and useless. Now she knew it could still give and take pleasure--gladly, greedily, lustily. "Yeah," he agreed. "We needed to have our good-bye sex. And I don't regret that at all." But he sounded worried. Maybe, she figured, he didn't want to come off like a cad who used a woman he was breaking up with for sex. At any rate, he hastily added, "Do you?" She was more than happy to reassure him. If he were there, she might have kissed his feet. Again. "I don't regret any of it, John. Except that it's got to end. That I'm not lying in your arms right now." Her voice grew husky. She could still envision them together. Those images, and the feelings that accompanied them, would be with her for a long while. Maybe, if she was lucky, for a lifetime. "Aww, don't do that, Dana. I'll hop a plane and then it'll take us another week or two to call it off." He sounded half serious. Despite themselves, they were moving into the dangerous area of backing away from their logical and mutual decision. Time to work this out, she thought, get their future dealings clear. "You calling *everything* off?" "No." He paused, then spoke slowly and emphatically. "I want to be a part of your life, and I want you in mine, when you're available. I need to talk with you, be friends with you." He paused again and said very softly, "But in the...the, uh, romantic arena, I...I need...I need to move on." Agent Scully brought all her years of experience in interrogation to bear. Guilty looks, jumpy eyes, fidgety hands--there were always visual clues to be read. But they weren't the only evidence available. Tones of voice, she'd found, were also very revealing. They could help one to draw the correct inference. She took a shot. "Got a date tonight?" His silence was the answer. At last he spoke. "You told me to," he muttered, sounding defensive. "I did," she agreed. She was in fact *not* pleased at the thought of John Kresge entwined with another woman. The very thought of another woman in his bed was...nauseating. When with him, she was tempted to brand him with her mark, tattoo a large red "DKS" on his ass. As she said, she didn't like to share. But in this case, she planned to grit her teeth and cede all future rights. She realized that, feelings aside, she *had* no rights where he was concerned. No one owed anyone anything, except gratitude and respect. "I want you to date, find a nice woman." Well, I don't, really, she thought. But her next words were true: "You deserve it. As much as I'd like to be, I'm not the one. We might as well face it and move on." "Then why do I feel an actual ache in my chest?" Oh, I do too, she thought. And I'm so glad that you're man enough to tell me that, that you regret our parting, that you're not playing this cool and casual. I guess that's why I fell for you in the first place. You always took *us* seriously. I will miss you. For a long time. "It was intense, really intense," she said. "We bared parts of our souls to each other. If you were here right now, I'd press myself against you and bury my head in your neck. Within a few minutes, we'd be naked." "Jesus, Dana," he breathed. "You trying to make this impossible?" Ha, she thought. If I were really trying to make this impossible, I'd tell you how you smell when you're aroused, how your cock feels when it's hard, how the texture of your tongue--stop that, she told herself sharply. Keep your mind on this conversation. "No. Just telling you that it'll take me a long time to be able to look at you without ripping your clothes off. So stay away from me for a while." Definitely necessary, she thought. Can't let myself get near him. "We'll talk on the phone?" He sounded in need of reassurance that some part of the relationship could continue. The sex had to go, but there was more to it than that. Wasn't there? "At least twice a week. Let's see if we can continue the friend part and get over the physical part. Think that's possible?" "We'll see," he sighed. "It'll probably depend on whether we're seeing other people. And our degree of horniness." She laughed. He was thinking pretty much along the same lines as she was. "You're probably right." It hit her that their being together was truly coming to an end. Suddenly, she didn't want to drag it out any longer. Bad enough it was over. She did enough post mortums in her professional life. Let's wrap, she thought. Her tone turned brisk. "I'll talk to you in a few days. Have a good time tonight." "That's how I know you don't love me enough." Oops, she thought. The post mortum may be done on this end, but the body's still open on the other. He's clearly not ready to close. He explained, "When you encouraged me to date other women, I knew it'd never work for us. If you were really in love with me, you wouldn't want me to be with someone else. But here you are, telling me to have a good time." Little do you know, she thought. I hate the thought of you and her, whoever she is. But that still doesn't make this a workable relationship. So let's not go there. "I think there's some truth in that," she said vaguely. "How do you feel when you think of me and another guy?" "Sick. I still want you. But I've finally managed to convince myself that I can't have you and I'm not gonna sit here dreaming the impossible dream." He took a breath and continued, "And then there's this hallucination thing. There you were, with your subconscious free and floating. And, as far as I hear, I didn't get one second of your time." "That's not fair," she protested. She hopped up off the couch and began pacing. "The whole hallucination was focused on the case, on what happened to Wallace and Angela Schiff. It was mainly about my professional role." "Yeah, right," he sighed. "Anyway, I'm going to get out and see what's doable. I'm not saying I'm settling. Just that if you're really not in my future, I should get off my ass and find a woman who could be." Quite right, she told herself. Go for it. I don't want to think about it, but it's best for you. Go get her. What's with this 'rah,rah' stuff, she asked herself. She peered out the window. It was still sunny outside. Funny, it seemed pretty cloudy where she was standing. "It makes sense, John. You're ready. That's what this has been about for you. Getting over your failed marriage. You're ready to love again. I'm sorry I can't be the lucky woman. And I mean that sincerely. Whoever you're with, she's going to be one fucking lucky woman." "You could be. You still could be." He sounded sincere. He really was a great guy. Just not for her. Oh, please, she thought. Enough. She paced to the other end of the room. "We've gone through it, all of it. I can't. I wish I could, but I can't." He let out a long breath, ready to end it at last. "Talk to you later in the week, Dana. Have a nice weekend." "Bye." She dropped the phone on the couch and folded her arms across her chest. She stood in her living room taking her emotional temperature. She knew this step was necessary, but that didn't mean she couldn't be miserable at the prospect of never making love with John again. Besides, she assumed their friendship wouldn't last a whole lot longer. Without seeing each other, they'd soon drift apart. Her life was emptier now; John had occupied a nice warm space. But she'd told the truth when she said she had no regrets about their relationship. It had prepared her to move ahead, just as he was moving ahead tonight. Tonight. She was free tonight. And hungry. She glanced down to check her clothes. A long, loose blue dress with short sleeves and a scoop neck. Lying near the door where she'd walked out of them were sandals with two-inch heels. Okay to wear if she wanted to go out. Impulse carried her back to the phone. Without her permission, her finger pressed a button. The voice on the other end was familiar. The most familiar voice in the world to her. "Mulder." She opened her mouth, then realized she didn't know what she was going to say. She wondered who'd made this phone call anyway. She just barely prevented herself from asking him why he'd called her. Get a grip, Dana, she admonished herself. When all else fails, go Hallmark: This is the first day of the rest of your life. The gift that keeps on giving. She shook her head. What drivel. Perhaps she should speak before Mulder assumed it was a crank call. Or worse, a member of the Consortium, in which case a killer laser was probably spinning through the phone line this instant, ready to imbed a deadly poison in her ear. She was appalled at the utter stupidity of her thoughts. "Mulder," she finally managed to say, "It's me." ------------------------------------------------ ------------------- "Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim," Scully chose a booth that was angled so she could see the door. She'd kept on her lightweight blue dress but flung a navy cardigan over her shoulders to ward off the evening chill. Her neighborhood bar was warm and raucous, however, so she'd shed the sweater and was now relaxing with a chardonnay. Again. What a day, she thought. Normally, on a weekend, at least until several months ago, she would have spent a quiet day catching up on her household chores and doing some reading, either professional or leisure. Perhaps she might have strolled out to do some recreational shopping. It was impossible to have too many shoes. Or, she might have gotten caught up in a case and ended up questioning suspects, slicing and dicing, or staring at the dingy walls of yet another fourth-rate motel. But this was the new Scully, social butterfly. If not flying off to the arms of her lover, she was in DC having Serious Discussions (her memory of Winnie the Pooh had made an impresssion) with what seemed to her an excessive number of people. Just today, she'd had heart to hearts with Ellen, her mother, and her now ex-lover, John Kresge. That's a lot of intimate contact for a woman used to spending her weekends alone. And if that weren't enough, rather than hole up and contemplate the day's conversations, all of which bore rich food for thought, some fugitive part of Scully had phoned Mulder and invited him to join her here. She was ready to put her cards on the table. After months of indecision, it was time to deal in truths, try to untangle their fucked up relationship. If they couldn't make their way to...to some degree of honesty and harmony, maybe...maybe there was no point in going on. She had clung to the *concept* of their relationship--perhaps not even its reality--through an incredible series of events. But now she knew that, as it existed, it simply was not enough. Their last case had helped her see this. It had highlighted their relationship, revealing its strengths and its many weaknesses. It had nearly parodied the dreary patterns that she found so maddening. It was all very fine for her mother to talk of the compelling, irrational nature of love. But it didn't do any good to love someone who would never return the sentiment. That was simply stupid. And maybe it isn't easy to stop loving someone, as Ellen had said. But a smart person would remove herself from the danger zone and get on with her life. She'd seen, through her relationship with John Kresge, the futility of fooling herself. Her heart had finally spoken. It told her to see if there was any possibility of having her needs met here. If not, move on. If not from the work, at least from the man. She was determined not to neglect her needs, now that she had a better idea what they were, nor would she hide from emotion. That phase was over, thank God. So here she was, swilling wine and waiting. And there he was, standing just inside the door and scoping out the room. Blue jeans, black leather jacket, gray Tee-shirt underneath. He spotted her and homed in, smiling as he made his way to her through the crowded, noisy room. "This seat taken?" He paused beside the other seat in the booth, removing his jacket and flinging it onto the hook at the top of the bench. "No, but I have to warn you. I'm feeling...talkative tonight." "Oooo, dangerous," he said, sliding until he reached the middle. "Does that mean I'll have to sing for my supper? What're you drinking?" "Chardonnay." "Girly stuff," he said. "I need a man's drink." She smirked. "And that would be...Bud Light?" He turned away to give his order--Bud Light--to the waitress and accept two menus. Although the waitress was a six-foot blonde with eight-foot legs, every firm, youthful inch exposed, he didn't give her a glance. He turned to Scully and slid one of the menus across the table. "You come here often?" he asked in the oily tone of a stranger inquiring about her astrological sign. She considered. "More than I should; less than I'd like to." Oh, way to go, Dana, she admonished herself. The fortune cookie approach. You'll have to do better than *that*. He nodded. "Guess you could say that about a lot of things." It occurred to Scully that Mulder might think this was her neighborhood pickup bar, where she'd been cruising for years to select her one-night stands. With the Jerse encounter, the Padgett influence, and the full-scale affair with Kresge, he seemed to view her as much racier than she was. But she could hardly say, Forget it, Mulder; I hardly ever got laid till John came along. So she kept quiet and sipped her wine. Mulder was fingering the menu, looking around the crowded bar. He turned back to Scully. "And you asked me here because...?" She opened her menu. "Consider this a very early or a very late birthday present." She threw him the genuine Scully smile. He seemed taken aback. "Oh. Okay. Guess I can order the most expensive item on the menu." He opened his menu. "Hey," he said. "There's nothing expensive here at all." He sounded like a little boy who'd been cheated out of a treat. She shrugged. "You're not the only cheapskate in this partnership, Mulder." He was watching the most recent arrivals. "Hey, musicians. Do they always have them?" "Just on weekends. It takes them a while to set up, so we'll be able to talk until the music starts. Then the floor will be rumbling to the beat of the savage drum." Where did that one come from, she wondered. Sometimes she couldn't figure out who was in control of her mouth. Mulder was studying her. "You said you're feeling talkative. I guess you want to discuss our hallucinations. We've talked about what they were, but not...what they might have meant." He closed his menu. She nodded. "Actually, Mulder, I'd like to backtrack to the office, before we took off for North Carolina. You quoted me a statistic about how often you're right about our cases." "Oh, you know me, Scully; show me a bright light and I'll follow it anywhere." He offered a conciliatory smile, obviously not spoiling for a dispute on a mellow Saturday night. "I suppose you're planning to tear into me for my usual arrogance. Let's just say, Point taken." She tossed her menu to the table. "Let's not," she said. "Let me tell you something, Mulder. I've been...re-examining my life these last few months. I didn't like what I saw. Now I'm determined to get it right. Or at least to come up with more acceptable terms for living. And I'm no longer willing to...to hide from problems. If I don't like something, I'm going to say so." His menu hit the table as well. Apparently, from the way it bounced, he'd changed his mind. He was willing to fight after all. Make an assertive remark, and he will explode, Scully thought, twisting around the Field of Dreams mantra. She leaned forward, curious to see what his offense would consist of. "I didn't realize you were being so reticent all these years, Scully. Here I thought that telling me how idiotic my ideas are five times a day constituted your giving me your opinion. You were hiding it all this time? Jesus, what have I been missing?" Good one, she thought. Classic Mulder. "Don't try to turn me into a bitch, Mulder. Well, maybe it's too late to stop that," she allowed. "But the point is that if you truly feel that you're right--what did you say, 98.9 percent of the time--what am I doing here? I know we've stood and talked like this before, but the point is...you don't need me. You know all the answers already." "Oh, fuck," he said. "You know that's horseshit. You know very well that if you hadn't sent the sample away for analysis, we'd both be skeletons in a field right now. You saved our asses--again. And I'm sure you've also figured out that neither of us was right. No ritualistic killing; no UFOs." He drew breath to rant on, but the waitress came to take their orders. Both gave a terse order for cheeseburgers and fries. The instant the swaying hips moved away, he continued, "Don't think I don't know where this is going." Scully finished her wine, set her glass aside, and picked up the new glass the waitress had delivered along with Mulder's beer. Her eyes widened. "Maybe you know where this is going, but I have no idea what you're talking about. Care to enlighten me?" "You want out," he said bluntly. "You're going to go off to that prick in San Diego, so you've decided to pick a fight with me so you can rationalize your decision. That's so like you, Scully. Why don't you just have the guts to tell me you're leaving instead of hiding behind some remark I made in the heat of discussion?" He picked up his beer and took a large gulp, glaring across the table at her. Scully stared, amazed by how completely the Mulder intuition had failed. And at how quickly this planned "discussion" was escalating. "Setting aside the question of who is the 'prick' here, Mulder," she said coldly, "I have to admit I'm surprised at your, uh, encroaching on my personal life this way." You want to get into this, she thought. You're on! "Aren't you the one who berated me for making things too personal?" She took another sip, freezing him with her eyes. "I thought the people we sleep with or slept with were off limits." "Oh, fuck," he said softly. He ripped little strips in his napkin. He looked up. "I shouldn't have said that, Scully. The thing about your making it personal, I mean. It's just one item in a long line of things I should never have said. I suffer from diarrhea of the mouth, you know that. Haven't you learned after six years not to take those things seriously?" He seemed amazed that she'd even remembered the remark, let alone been offended. Did he not recall that she stormed out soon afterward, saying that personal interest was all that remained for her? She shook her head. "I couldn't--I can't--forget that day, Mulder. It told me you didn't take *me* seriously, after all the years we've been...together." She decided to plunge ahead, hand over a bowl of honesty, see where it led. "We were coming off a tough year," she continued. "I realize we both were. You lost and found your belief in aliens, found and lost your sister again, found out your...father had something to do with the, the original plans...had to deal with my cancer." She picked up a packet of sugar, tore off the corner, and dumped little trickles into the ashtray, concentrating hard to make sure no granule fell on the table. "And...well, you know my problems, including Emily. I guess we were both low, but to have you...snipe at me, in front of the Lone Gunmen, telling me I was taking things personally when I...I was raising a...a tremendously important professional point. That was just too fucking much, considering that I have been *personally* a victim of medical rape and experimentation. That I've got this chip in my *personal* neck...oh, shit." She broke off and looked up, to be confronted with a face etched by misery. Nonetheless, she continued, "I don't want to get into all this. We both know what happened. But after that day, Mulder, mentally I walked away. I figured if my opinions matter so little to you, well, fuck it. So, I've kind of struck out on my own, thought about where my life is going...taken a good look at things." He reached out and took the sugar packet from her hand and tossed it into the ashtray, then caught the waitress's eye and raised two fingers. "Scully, those words were said in the heat of the moment, at...at a time when I was thoroughly confused. I'm sorry." His voice was soft, sincere. "I was wrong." She smiled through the tears that'd filled her eyes. "Mulder, did you know those are the three words every woman wants most to hear?" He returned her smile. "I...Was...Wrong. And yes, I know. It's not just women, either. Didn't I tell you that in my hallucination you said some wonderful, magical phrases: 'You were right. I was wrong.'" He tapped the back of her hand. "I'm sorry if it comes too late," he said. "I really do value you, no matter how shitty I act sometimes. I've always figured you know I don't mean the...the hurtful remarks. I just never learned to keep my mouth shut. It serves me right if you're leaving. If I had any class, I'd wish you luck, but I never did have any class. So don't expect me to show up to give the bride away." He accepted his new beer and took a long swig. Holding the bottle in both hands, he stared at the table. Typical Mulder, she thought. Take one giant leap, assume it's true, and go into a funk. I should let him stew, since he's so convinced he's always right. But this was the new regime: honesty would reign. "Mulder?" He looked up. "This is none of your business. But I'm not marrying John Kresge. We've geared things down to...to a friendship. He has nothing to do with the issue I raised, which is whether or not I'm an equal partner in the X-Files. If I'm always wrong, what's the point of my being there? This is a sincere effort to find out where I stand." She recalled her hallucination, when the Medical Examiner, Skinner, and even the Lone Gunmen agreed that the rational explanation was the best. She'd felt so affronted by their conclusion. So that was what it felt like to be Mulder, believing the logical explanation to be false but having no means of proof. She could feel the frustration, the explosiveness, of being a Mulder confronted by the face of reason. If that's how he felt, she could see why he'd want to remove her, the source of his frustrations. Now she understood. "If you really feel my ideas...are without value, then I...I have a decision to make." She held his eyes and leaned forward. "Please be honest with me, for once in your life. Don't make a quip, don't come up with some cheap innuendo, just tell me what you feel." Mulder stared into her eyes, blinking back tears. He reached for her hand. "The truth, Scully. I need you. But I don't deserve you. And since I feel I don't deserve you, this nasty streak of mine...it keeps making remarks calculated to drive you away. So I'll be alone again. The way I deserve." His grip tightened. Bottom line, Scully thought. After six years, the truth is finally out there. "Why do you think you deserve to be alone, Mulder?" "I've felt that way since I was twelve," he said, his voice so soft she had to strain to hear. "My dad made sure I knew I was at fault, that I was eternally at fault. All my studies, all the insights I've brought to it as an adult, everything I've since learned about my dad--none of it is enough to cut through that feeling. So I became a smartass, with a cruel tongue. To drive people away. And it's always worked." He let go of her hand and reached for his beer. "Why are you the exception?" She thought it over. "I don't *think* I'm masochistic," she said. Be honest, she told herself. You promised yourself; now do it. "So I think...I think I'm still here because I believe in you...and because I've become...attached. Maybe you don't feel it, Mulder, but I've felt, until recently, a bond between us. And then there's the earthshattering importance of the work--if we're right, the fate of the world depends on what we do. I can only walk away from that if you tell me it's all a hoax, or that I have nothing to give." Make it easy for him, she told herself; offer to leave. It's the only way you'll ever know. "If I'm holding you back with my lack of imagination, I'll leave. Or if you decide to work with someone else, end our partnership." "I'd never do that," he said. Both withdrew their hands from the table as the waitress set down their cheeseburger platters. "I told you. I don't feel I could...do this without you. And that was bullshit, what I said. I'm *not* right all the time. In almost every case, both of us are right about *some* things. You've contributed to every case we've ever investigated, more than I have, a lot of the time. You're a great partner and a great person, and I am so fucking lucky to have you, I must be a lunatic to keep trying to drive you away." He pulled his platter closer and picked up his burger. "This looks good," he said, surprised. "Best burgers in Georgetown," she said, digging in. She was pleased with his comments so far, but still not sure where she stood. The question was still open: Was this a strictly professional relationship? Should she be looking for a suitable man here in DC? She didn't plan to return to celibacy, at least willingly. Did his interest extend to the personal? She was determined to delve further, now that he was here--and talking. "Probably the only burgers in Georgetown," he muttered after the waitress was out of earshot. "Now why am I thinking I'm a cheap date?" "Nothing but the best for you, Mulder," she said, sinking her teeth into the thick, juicy burger. "You're in for a treat. Shut up and eat." He did. "Wow. Happy early birthday to me. Thanks." He called the waitress back to order two more drinks. Maybe he realized that he'd need to be fortified for the conversation yet to come. "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." "You know one thing that'd really help?" Mulder said, between munches. The brow arched. Scully had a mouthful of burger. "If you could listen to my theories without rolling your eyeballs. I know they're far out, *you* certainly know they're far out, but the fact is, they often--not 98 percent of the time, mind you--have *some* validity. So I don't think I deserve that expression." He set his burger down. "You said a while ago that one reason you stay is because you believe in me. Well, you coulda fooled me." Scully swallowed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I always thought you knew I believed in you, if not all your theories." "I *am*" my theories, Scully. You can't separate me from the ideas that you seem to view as pure bullshit." "I do," she said. "But since you feel this way, I'll try to behave with more respect from now on." She sipped her wine. "And I'd like my ideas, wrong and boring and conventional as you think they are, to be granted the same...respectful reception. You may not do the eyeball roll, but you get this really smug, superior little smile, as if you're thinking, Here we go again. You always look as if you can't wait for me to finish, just so you can cut me down." He nodded and reached for one of Scully's fries, having finished his own. "Deal." He munched and reached for the ketchup, lavishly pouring it over Scully's fries. "One thing I found out in my hallucination. I *really* want you to believe. What did I do when my wet dream came true? When I--" he broke off to give a short laugh. "Abducted an alien? Did I go on CNN, ask it the plans for the invasion, tell it to 'take me to my sister'?" He shook his head. "None of the above. I stashed it in my bedroom and saved it to show you. I gave you this terrific speech about how it would change the meaning of everything, put your science out of business. I was ecstatic to have a real live alien to present you with. It was like the highlight of my existence." He took another swig of beer. "Jesus, that sounds pathetic." She disagreed. "No, not when you've devoted years to it. Of course, you'd want to be right. And to have me admit it." "Yeah, well, I went a little overboard. I had you repeating it over and over, how right I was, how wrong you were. It was like I was continuing our argument in my dream." He laughed. "You were so convinced that the alien was real that I...I lost my belief in what was happening. So I became suspicious and turned into...into you, raising all sorts of objections. It turns out if you won't supply the logical and reality-based questions, it forces me into doing it." He smiled and stole another fry. "That's why I'm sure I need you on this. If I know that you're going to supply the objections and haul us down to earth, it frees my mind to come up with all sorts of absurd possibilities. I can't play both roles, much as I'd like you to agree with me." Scully sighed. "It's kind of sad that the reason you suspected it was a fantasy is that I agreed with you, told you you were right. Am I such a naysayer that even acid mushrooms can't convince you that I'd ever believe what you say? Am I *that* negative?" "No. You just refuse to agree with anything you don't really believe." He gave her a tender smile. "It's called integrity." She finished her burger, shoving the plate of fries towards Mulder's side of the table. "I found out what it was like to be you, how it feels to be the only one with an idea of what really happened. And no one would believe me. I turned into you, shouting, making a scene, and everyone ignored me. They thought I was crazy! It's really frustrating to know that the conventional explanation isn't right, but to be the only one who thinks so." Mulder finished off the fries and held up two fingers where the waitress could see. "You're telling me," he said. "I see why you want to believe in Fowley," Scully said, broaching the topic with trepidation. "She says she believes in you. That must be very...seductive when everyone else thinks you're either foolish or crazy." Mulder was silent for a while. Perhaps it'd been a mistake, Scully thought, to approach the sacred subject. But the Foul One was one of the big reasons for everything that'd happened in recent months. In fact, her influence dated from nearly a year ago. One year, and Scully still didn't know much about the so- called ex-chickadee. It rankled. "I know you're curious about my past with her," Mulder said, shoving dishes off to the side so the waitress would pick them up. "But I'm not ready to talk about it. I'm sorry. But I know you're a private person too. There are plenty of things you don't want to talk about. I could list a dozen without thinking too hard. And I'd never insist that you discuss something with me if you wanted to keep it private. Look how good I was--usually--when you had cancer." He frowned and finished another beer. "So let me just tell you a couple things: She is not a factor in my life right now. I never see her; I don't even know where she is, in DC or on some other posting. I'm continuing to look into the information you had about the European MUFONs; I didn't ignore what you said. As for the work--and my life--you're the only person I'm with. However you want to interpret that. And I don't want or need anyone else, in either capacity." He paused and met her eyes, his own glinting with what may have been hope. "Is that enough?" Scully sat back while the waitress cleared their dishes and delivered more drinks. This might be her neighborhood bar, but still, how was she going to stagger three blocks to get home, especially when the night air hit her booze- soaked head? She glanced around the large, dark room, almost surreal in its bustle and noise. The band was setting up to the right of the bar, and every table and barstool was occupied. People were milling, and the temperature must be in the eighties. She tried to evaluate what Mulder had just said. Too bad she was three sheets to the wind; her interpretive skills were needed, and she was afloat. Work--and life, he'd said. That seemed to cover it. "Yes," she said, speaking a little louder as the band started to tune their instruments. "For right now," she qualified. Apparently, the alcohol had loosened her tongue. Or else, she'd come here ready to talk truth and was continuing, whatever the consequences. She was thoroughly tired of maneuvering with Mulder. She was at the point where, given a sufficient amount of chardonnay, she'd rip open her shirt and say, "Well, ya want me or not?" Luckily, she was wearing a dress and had not a button in sight. And she hadn't drunk *that* much. Perhaps it was best not to act under the influence of alcohol, especially since the topic of discussion was how they'd acted under the influence of acid fungi. It may also be a good idea, she thought, not to make a move on a guy three hours after breaking off with her lover. Rebound. Wow, she thought, I'm making no sense at all. Maybe I shouldn't drink any more. She picked up the newly provided glass and gulped a mouthful. Mulder, meanwhile, was making inroads into his Bud and watching the band at work. "I wanna talk more, Scully," he said, his eyes still focused on the band. "But I think you need to get Kresge out of your system." He held up his hand as her eyes swiveled his way and took a bit of time to focus. "I know. Personal stuff off limits. I don't want to hear about him. Believe me," he added with fervor. "I just want to take some time. Get over the acid trip." "Yeah," she agreed. "It's sad, isn't it, that we thought we were off the acid till we found ourselves in agreement in Skinner's office. Doesn't it say something bad about us that you immediately suspected we were still tripping just because we agreed about a case?" He shook his head. "No. I prefer to think about how it took two of us to clear this up. How you convinced me that the mushrooms were the cause when we were in my apartment, that we weren't actually sitting there. Logic, as usual. Classic Scully. You mean the aliens dropped you off at your apartment, you asked. Why were you knocking on your own door? Your reeling off the standard scientific rigmarole about the hallucinatory effects of mushrooms. You were totally convincing. I did listen to your reasoning, and I accepted it and acted on it. You were right, Scully." She smiled. That was music to her ears. "You sure know how to sweet talk a girl, Mulder. And you were the one who called it in Skinner's office. Not just that we agreed, but you used logic. Logic! How can you escape the effects of a drug by the mere realization that you are drugged? Perfect. Of course, shooting Skinner struck me as a bit excessive." Mulder laughed. "It would. I thought it was a rather nice flamboyant gesture, myself." He rose and slid around to her side of the booth. "The band's making too much noise," he explained, lowering his mouth to her ear. The hairs around her ear fluttered and a shiver ran down her spine. She'd always been curious about what kind of physical effect Mulder would have on her, given that his mind, his exciting, adventurous mind, already struck her as an aphrodisiac. That little breath in her ear seemed to have settled the matter. Whew. She turned to him and found them nose to nose. The bar was becoming unbearably hot; she felt the trickle of sweat between her breasts. At the thought of her breasts, her nipples hardened. You are drunk, she told herself. Behave. It didn't help that the drums were pounding out a primitive rhythm that had her and Mulder rocking in time with the music. Get a grip, she told herself, still two inches from Mulder. Yes, back to the case. The case, the *case,* she emphasized to her sailing mind. "Aren't you surprised by the shared hallucination?" she asked, having finally located a straw to grasp at. "From what we described, separately, without consultation, it seems clear that we participated in two fantasies together: the one in your apartment where I gave my mushroom speech, and the one in Skinner's office, where you shot him. How could that be?" He shrugged, his shoulder and arm brushing her bare arm. She noticed that his flesh was damp. It was goddamned hot in that bar, and the pulsing beat of the music and the rumbling of the dance floor wasn't helping. Sobriety could be a plus as well, she thought. "Remember we shared a fantasy on Christmas Eve, too, Scully," he said. "I don't know how we do it. Maybe like the little alien I dreamed I abducted, we have some sort of telepathic thing going." She tried to give that her sober consideration. She found it difficult. Finally, some cogent thoughts emerged. "I don't know," she said. "I think we usually don't understand each other in the least, so I don't see how our minds could connect. Unless it only happens when some kind of mortal danger occurs. Maybe to save our lives, we manage to make contact. But on a daily basis...." She trailed off. "Yeah," he said, his breath brushing her cheek as she turned her head to pick up her wine glass. "Just tonight, we've found out a whole lot about each other that we didn't know. In fact," he too faced forward as he picked up his beer. "I still don't know how you feel about me, except that you believe in me, in some vague way. Now I, I...would give the world for you. But I don't know where you stand. Just that you've had what appeared to be the romance of the century and now it's off." He turned to her for a second. "Sorry. I know that's off limits." She contemplated his profile. For such a confident, not to say arrogant, man, he had little opinion of himself, thanks to Daddy Dearest. And once he'd driven her away with his allegiance to the Foul One, he'd had nothing. Just the humiliation, as he'd confessed it, of turning briefly into a stalker when he saw her and Kresge together. Of calling her at a convention to tell her a joke, only to find out that she was trysting with her lover. Of picking her up at the airport when she could hardly even walk, taking her to his bed, and nursing her back to health. Of wondering what Padgett meant when he said Agent Scully was already in love. Of traversing her mental distance from him and sharing a glorious night of batting practice, when, together, they swung for the stars. A generous man who had refrained from sulking, once he realized her attention was elsewhere. And he had continued to give her his affection, care, and respect. Once again, as was the case with her mother, she realized she'd focused on what she was being denied, not on what she was denying. She'd shut him out. He, generously, had kept the door open. She leaned forward a couple of inches and pressed her lips to his cheek. Stubble pricked her tender, slightly sunburned lips, but she kept them there for a few seconds. "You," she told him, "are the most important person in my life. I tried to walk away from you, but I couldn't get out of your orbit. Your pull was too strong. I'll quit the X-Files and get out of your life if you don't want me. But if you do, then, I'm in." He nodded, still in profile. "I need your commitment," he told her. "I...understand what you're saying. I *will* act on it, as much as I can in my...damaged state." He turned to face her. "You know my faults. I can be mean, harsh, hurtful, a real prick. Sometimes my tongue is a lethal weapon." He leaned down to plant a kiss on the side of her mouth. "I don't want to hurt you, Scully. And I already have, I know that. But I'm gonna try." She smiled into his eyes. "I think we both need to try. We've gotten into a lot of bad patterns, ways of hurting each other. We don't need to live this way. We can argue our cases without insulting each other. Can't we?" He shrugged. "I don't know if *I* can. I'm a mean son of a bitch. But I'll try." He draped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. "Wanna dance?" Why not, she thought. I already spend most of my life dancing with Mulder. "Sure," she said, and they slid out of the booth. Although the music was blaring in the confines of the bar, it was at least a slow number. They walked into each other's arms, and their bodies clamped together like magnets. Nothing like a little booze to blunt the inhibitions, Scully thought, burying her nose in his neck and comparing his sweaty, masculine scent to the one she was used to, Kresge's. The odor of his sweat was really different. She thought she could differentiate his sweat from John's in a blindfolded test. His body felt longer, thinner, bonier. His arms tightened around her, and she imagined she could feel every bone in his body, including one that was not, technically speaking, a bone. It seemed to be hinting at some interest in her. She tightened her arms around him, and felt him bury his nose in her hair. He nuzzled till he reached her scalp. They swayed for what seemed like an eternity. Everything else blurred into simply Not Them. There were other dancers, blaring clarinets, shouting patrons, bustling waitstaff, but, like an island in the middle of a raging sea, they stood, locked together, oblivious to all. When the song ended, they stayed in place, dazed. Finally, Mulder spoke. "It's so hot and smoky in here. Wanna step outside for a minute?" She started threading her way through the crowd to the door. Outside, they leaned against the building and studied the sky. "See any bright lights?" she asked. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I see them everywhere. I'm in love with the unknown." He turned to her. "That's probably one of your attractions. I may be this hotshot profiler, but I don't know jack about you. You are a mystery." She nodded. "You too. I'm sorry my hallucination included your death. I'm wondering if that's because I'm afraid it will happen. That you'll run into some cave or other, metaphorically speaking, and never appear again. You'll chase the mystery till it kills you." "Not with you on the job." He pulled her close, tucking her against his side. "My worry is that my chasing the mysteries will kill *you*. It's almost enough to make me draw back sometimes. Almost." "Don't worry about me. I'm here by my own choice." She looked at the sky again. "Not to get into an argument, but in that last case, we *saw* stuff that wasn't true, didn't even exist. Back on Christmas Eve, we *saw* each of us shoot the other. We *saw* ourselves bleeding to death. And none of that was real. Yet, you keep telling me you *saw* something or other, and you expect me to believe on that basis. If I can't believe what I see, or what we see, why should I believe what you see?" He thought over her words. "You can't. That's why we need proof. Why you're the most valuable half of the X-Files team." He leaned down and kissed her lips, a warm peck, sweet, affectionate. "I hear another slow song. I'm too old to prance around to the fast stuff, but how about another dance before I call a cab. I'm too sozzled to drive." She nodded and they re-entered the dark, crowded, pulsating bar. Smoke hovered near the ceiling, making everything hazy. Her vision blurred, Scully stepped into Mulder's arms, their warm bodies pressing together, totally relaxed. She felt his hand travel along her spine, counting the vertebrae, exploring the muscle. It was if he needed to assure himself that she was real. His large hand splayed across her back near her waist, nearly covering that tiny area. He pulled her closer, massaging her slowly and gently. She felt his warm breath stir her hair. She raised both arms and wrapped them around his neck, nestling her head under his chin. She closed her eyes, realizing that in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and caring, she had reached a resting place in her journey. For the moment at least, she was home. At last. END A HUGE thank you to Marie and the readers who corresponded with me throughout this post-ep series. Another huge thank you to Galia for archiving this on her very fine archive http://members.xoom.com/galias/visions.html and for her lovely book cover design. All my work can be found at http://www.xemplary.com And feedback is very welcome at Mystphile@aol.com