From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 7 Aug 2001 16:24:22 -0000
Subject: The Right Path by Aurora Jordan
Source: direct

Reply To: aurora_jordan@hotmail.com


Disclaimer:  All characters from "The X-Files" used in this 
piece of fiction are, of course, not mine but belong to His 
Highness, Chris Carter, His Highness's network, Ten Thirteen 
Productions, and His Highness's network's network, Fox 
Broadcasting.

Title:  The Right Path 
Author:  Aurora Jordan
E-mail:  aurora_jordan@hotmail.com
Rating:  G
Category:  VR
Spoilers:  Post Existence.  Major for all things, very minor for 
The Red and the Black.
Keywords:  Mulder/Scully romance.  Scully POV.
Summary:  Mulder and I have found our Nirvana.

= = =
The Right Path 
= = =


I curl up on my side, head supported by the mound of pillows, 
and drink in the sight before me.  Mulder sits on the edge of 
the bed, his sculpted back bare to me as he peers down into the 
bassinet.  His left hand curves around the wicker arch as the 
other one droops over the rim of the basket, stroking our 
sleeping son's head.  

The light coming from our bedside caresses him in such a way 
that it coaxes open what seems like an ancient memory; but it is 
one that is still emblazoned with a certain sort of novelty in 
the forefront of my mind.  One of a warm Sunday night in April, 
the kind of spring evening that drips with the dew of new 
passages.  Of a fitful, yet necessarily short, sleep brought on 
by hot tea and christened by his murmured words:

//One wrong turn, and we wouldn't be sitting here together.//

A smile stretches my face at the idea's simple brevity--how such 
few words could envelop all that is strange and wonderful about 
us, and how their meaning changed my life forever.  I came to 
him later that night with the wholehearted intention of baring 
my mind, body, and soul to the man who had evolved into my 
life's guide.  And I did.  

Now that I think back on it, it wasn't so much of an intention 
as . . . simply banishing another wrong turn.

Is that all it is?  Finding an ancient Eastern art of happiness 
as we chose to travel our own Multifold Path?  I'd like to think 
so.  Simplicity is next to holiness.  Mulder and I have found 
our Nirvana.

The muscles in his back flex.  He knows I'm looking at him and 
he turns around to return the gaze with such an awesome amount 
of tender curiosity that my mind whirls.  His hands shift 
position; one still loosely grasps William's bed, and the other 
brushes a strand of hair off my cheek.  I smile.  Another 
telltale impression from that night.

"You're thinking.  What about?"

The breath eases itself out of my mouth.  My eyes wander in 
thought before I give my answer.  "Destiny.  Fate.  How to throw 
a curveball."  He laughs softly in recognition of the quotation, 
and I continue.  "Mulder, do you remember what you said to me 
that night you came back from England?  As I fell asleep on your 
couch?"  I repeat the phrase that has been running through my 
mind.
His eyes tack on a new depth of warmth.  "Yeah.  That was a 
pretty heavy night, Scully."

"Have you ever thought about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean . . ."  I shift my head to look at the bassinet, my brow 
furrowing as I try to gather my thoughts.  "About wrong turns.  
Have we *ever* made them?  And if we have, are we allowed a 
certain number of them, or are we just lying in wait for the big 
one to strike?"
 
"Or . . . we think too much about things that are maybe never 
meant to be understood."  He searches my face and I nod 
concedingly.  "I think it's a pretty abstract concept anyway.  I 
think . . . that you and I have made wrong turns, and *together* 
we've made wrong turns.  But to answer your question, *every* 
choice" --he caresses my cheek and steals a glance at William-- 
"has been a right one.  Even when it's wrong."

We share a smile; I nod again.  "I understand.  I agree."

"Wow," he breathes.  "Maybe we've got something with Bhudda 
after all."

A laugh shakes my body and I regard him with familiar, undying 
admiration.  I roll onto my back, stretching into the bedsheets.  
My fingers trail up his arm and hug his tricep.  "Come here, 
Mulder."

Without a pause he leans over, finds his home in my always-open 
arms, and meets my lips with every bit of affinity that I have 
always known.  Love, simple and holy.  That is all we need to 
continue on the right path.