From: Brandon Ray <publius@avalon.net>
Date: Mon, 03 Jan 2000 23:14:44 -0600
Subject: Summer's Lease 1:  June (1/1)
Source: direct

Reply To: publius@avalon.net

TITLE:  Summer's Lease 1:  June
by Brandon D. Ray

EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Anywhere is fine, so long as my
name stays on it and no money changes hands.

FEEDBACK:  Go ahead; knock yourself out.

SPOILER STATEMENT:  Season 6 mythology episodes.  Small ones
for "The Unnatural" & "Amor Fati"

RATING:  NC-17

CONTENT STATEMENT:  MSR.  Explicit sex.  MulderAngst.
ScullyAngst.  Sc/O (past)

CLASSIFICATION:  Story, Romance, Angst

SUMMARY:   Why is it that whenever things seem to be going
*really* well, something has to go wrong?  AKA Brandon's
version of the obligatory "a man from Scully's past
resurfaces, just at the wrong moment" story.  And may I just
say that sometimes I like writing these summaries better
than other times?

THANKS:  To Brynna, Sharon & Trixie, for beta etc.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is the first in a series.  However,
deus volent and the crick don't rise, it will be fairly
short, and quickly written.

DISCLAIMER:  In my dreams...


Summer's Lease 1:  June

by Brandon D. Ray

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date

                  Sonnet #18
                  William Shakespeare


=========
Chapter One
=========

Scully no longer enjoyed waking up alone.

In the past, it had been different.  As recently as six
months ago, she had cherished those first few moments of
consciousness.  They had been her quiet time; her refuge.
They had given her an opportunity to center herself and get
her emotional bearings, before she had to face the rest of
the world.

But now everything had changed.  Now, she was with Mulder.
And while they didn't sleep together all that often, Scully
was finding that she missed him more and more on those
mornings when he wasn't there.

The thing was, this wasn't supposed to be one of those
mornings.  Scully frowned as she regarded the indentation on
the other pillow.  He had been there last night, when she
went to sleep.  His sleepy, bedroom eyes were the last
things she saw before she drifted off.  She also had
distinct recollections of cuddling up against something warm
and comfortable in the middle of the night.  So he had been
there.

The question was, where was he now?  It was Sunday; they
didn't have a case pending, and he didn't have any plans
that she knew of.  So where was he?

She rolled over in bed, and squinted at the clock.  11:45.
And Mulder's clothes were neatly folded and hanging over the
back of the chair in the corner, so the odds were good he
was still here in her apartment somewhere.  A slow smile
spread across Scully's face as she considered the matter.
Apparently it was time for a Mulder Hunt.

She threw back the covers and rolled out of bed.  Pausing
only long enough to grab her robe and pull it on, she
stepped out into the hallway and headed down to the living
room.

And there he was, just as she'd more or less expected.  Fox
Mulder lay sprawled out on her living room carpet, reading
the Sunday funnies, wearing nothing but his glasses and a
pair of light gray boxer shorts.

Oh, boy.

Scully paused for a moment in the entryway, and allowed her
gaze to rake over ther partner's body.  He seemed to be
absorbed in the newspaper, but she knew better; Mulder was
always aware of her presence.  No matter how quiet she tried
to be, he always seemed to know when she was there.  As she
lingered over the planes and angles of his shoulders and
upper back, he raised himself up slightly and stretched
theatrically, causing the muscles in his back to ripple in a
most satisfying way -- and Scully felt a smile spreading
across her face.

Without giving it another thought, she stepped lightly
forward, shedding her robe as she went.  As she approached
Mulder's prone body, she dropped to her knees, straddled his
hips, and stretched herself out on top of him.  She leaned
down, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the back of
his neck.

"Well good morning to you, too, Agent Scully."  Her
partner's amused voice rumbled through his back and against
her chest, low and intimate and pleasing.  "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," she breathed, allowing her lips to browse languidly
around to the side of his neck.  "Right up until the moment
that I woke up and discovered that you'd deserted me."

"Deserted you, Scully?" he asked, gesturing awkwardly at the
newspaper in front of him.  "Never.  I just had to get my
'Dilbert' fix."

Scully flicked out her tongue, and traced the line of the
tendon running from Mulder's shoulder to just below his ear
-- and she smiled happily as he shivered slightly.  "So ...
did you get your fix," she whispered,.  He didn't answer,
and she took his earlobe between her teeth and bit down
sharply.  "Mulder?  Are you ... satisfied?"

Stil he didn't say anything, and now Scully brought her
fingers to bear on the problem, sliding her hands under his
arms and around to his chest, until she found his nipples.
They quickly puckered under her ministrations, and then she
pinched them each firmly between thumb and forefinger, at
the same time biting down on his shoulder, not quite hard
enough to draw blood.

Mulder moaned.

"You know, Scully," he said, obviously trying desperately to
maintain a facade of cool, "if you really want to get
anything out of this, you're going to have to let me turn
over."

"I dunno, G-man," she murmured, now licking delicately at
the spot she had bitten.  "I like you just the way you are.
Vulnerable, that is.  Helpless."

"Helpless?"  Mulder flexed the muscles of his butt, causing
them to rub against the insides of her thighs, and sending
bolts of warmth shooting through her abdomen.  "You think
I'm helpless?"

"Y-yeah ...."

But she didn't have a chance to complete the thought.
Suddenly, Mulder was a flurry of motion, and Scully couldn't
suppress a low shriek as he bucked and heaved beneath her.
And the next thing she knew, she was lying on her back, with
her partner hovering over her, his weight balanced on his
forearms, and a gleam of desire in his eyes.

"You cheated," she complained, even as her hands were
lightly tracing the outlines of his shoulder blades.
Mulder's smile broadened, and he lowered his head and
applied his mouth to her neck -- and for a few minutes, Dana
Scully lost the capacity for speech.

God, he was good at this.  She knew from gossip she'd
overheard from time to time in the ladies' room at the
Hoover Building that other women in the Bureau suspected
what Mulder could do with those full, sensitive lips.  But
only she knew.  Only Dana Scully had firsthand experience
with this particular extreme possibiity.

Mulder's hips shifted against her pelvis, and Scully became
aware that her fingernails were digging into his back, and
that she was biting down on his shoulder again.  She could
not remember ever letting go like this with a man -- not
with anyone before Mulder.  But at times during their
lovemaking she would lose herself for what seemed like hours
-- and then suddenly she would come rushing back into her
own desperate, needy body.

The first couple of times it happened, the loss of identity
and control had scared her.  It went against her every
instinct to let it all go like that.  But she had quickly
become addicted to the feeling, finding it to be
surprisingly liberating and intoxicating.  Somehow, it made
all her troubles go away, at least for a short while.

As long as it was Mulder, she thought, distantly and
disjointedly.  Only Mulder could make her feel safe enough
to allow this to happen.

She let go of him long enough to slide her hands down his
back -- and frowned as her fingers came in contact with
something other than skin.  Boxers, she realized.  The louse
was still wearing his boxers.

"You're overdressed," she complained, slipping her thumbs
into the waistband and tugging downwards.  Mulder chuckled
softly, still caressing her neck and shoulder with his lips
and tongue, and lifted his hips slightly, allowing the
elastic to be pushed down off them.

Oh, yessss ... that was much better.  Scully murmured
something inarticulate as Mulder's erection sprang free of
its cotton prison and brushed lightly against her soft mound
of curls.  She shuddered, and couldn't keep herself from
rubbing her body against his, taking special care to grind
her groin against his.

She heard her partner chuckle again, and she lifted her
mouth from where it continued to bite, nibble and lick at
his neck and shoulder, and looked up into his eyes.  He was
gazing right back down at her, and Scully found herself
suddenly short of breath at the naked passion and desire she
saw there.  All of that was for her; every last bit of it.
They were both on fire, and there was only one way to quench
it.

"Mulder," she whispered, bringing her hands up again to
clutch at his shoulders, and at the same time wrapping her
legs loosely around his waist.  "Mulder ... do me.  Do me
hard."

Mulder chuckled again, and dipped his head to capture her
lips with his own.  He shifted his hips slightly, and
somehow managed to enter her without the benefit of a
guiding hand, sliding in all the way to the hilt in one
hard, smooth, stroke.

Scully's eyes fluttered shut at the instant of their
joining, and she moaned into his mouth, her tongue meeting
his in wordless celebration of the union.  Her fingernails
were digging his back again as she tried to pull him closer,
and Mulder, himself, was making low, gutteral noises of
pleasure.

Abruptly, Mulder withdrew from her, only to slam back in,
even harder than the first time.  Scully tightened her arms
around him, and threw her hips upwards into his stroke.  It
was so good; so very good.  It was just what she wanted;
just what she needed.  And then he repeated the motion, and
again, and again ... and with each thrust she felt herself
flying higher and higher ....

They broke the kiss, and Mulder pressed his forehead down
against hers.  Scully forced her eyes open, wanting to see
him, wanting to taste him with her eyes as well as her
mouth.  His own eyes were squinched tightly shut, his
features were contorted in passion and pleasure, and he was
breathing through his mouth in rhythm with his lower body's
hard, steady, strokes ....

Her own body was responding, of course, keeping perfect time
with his, rising up to meet his downward motions.  She was
already so close; so very, very close.  Scully could feel
her control slipping away once again, and she willingly let
it go, allowing her love and need and desire to take over
....

And then she was there, the wave was cresting, and it keep
building and building and building, it was never going to
stop, it would just carry her along, and it would carry
Mulder along, too, and he was groaning and crying out as he
emptied himself into her spasming body ....

"God."

Scully was distantly aware of her partner's voice floating
to her from ... somewhere.  She realized that her eyes were
closed, and forced them open once again, to see Mulder's
face hovering over her, his eyes a dark, dark green, his
features soft and open and slick with perspiration.

"Scully," he whispered, reaching up with one hand to stroke
her face.  "Oh, Scully."  He shook his head and smiled
ruefully.  "We should videotape ourselves sometime.  We
might be excused from the annual physical training
requalification."

Scully couldn't keep herself from bursting out laughing.
"God, Mulder," she giggled.  "You're such an idiot."  She
cupped the back of his head with one hand and drew him down
for a soft kiss.  "But you're my idiot.  And I wouldn't have
it any other way," she murmured against his lips.  She moved
her hips slightly as her tongue gently explored his mouth.
He was still semi-erect and inside her; perhaps, if she
played her cards right --

And the phone rang.

For a moment she was tempted just to let it go -- but Dana
Scully could no more ignore a ringing telephone than she
could uncritically believe in the existence of
extraterrestrial biological entities.  And so she broke the
kiss, and sighed, and with an apologetic smile to Mulder she
slipped out from under him and crawled over to the end table
next to the sofa, grabbing the receiver from its cradle just
before her voicemail would have picked up the call.

"Scully."

"Dana, this is your mother."

"Mom."  Scully suddenly felt nervous and a little
embarrassed -- as if she were a teenager who'd been caught
with her boyfriend in her bedroom.  She had not yet told her
mother of the advent of her personal relationship with
Mulder.  This was at least partly because of her memories of
the stern disapproval both her parents had expressed when
she was with Jack Willis.  "How was Mass?"

"Church was fine," her mother replied -- and Scully thought
she detected an odd note of ... tension? ... in the older
woman's voice.  "I'm sorry you weren't able to be there.
Father McCue sends his regards."

There was something wrong, Scully thought, turning in place
so that she was sitting with her back leaning against the
sofa.  Oh, her mother did nag her from time to time about
her poor church attendance, but this was something else --
something with more of an edge to it.

"Dana, Jim was in church this morning."  Mrs. Scully's voice
was flat and unemotional, as if she were reporting that it
was raining.

"Jim?"  For a few seconds Scully was unable to process her
mother's statement.  Jim was in church?  This morning?  She
detected motion out of the corner of her eye, and realized
that Mulder was climbing to his feet, presumably in search
of coffee, and perhaps clothes.  Before she could
second-guess herself, she reached out and grabbed his hand,
firmly holding on until he settled back down.  She then
pulled slightly on it, and he scooted over until he was
sitting next to her on the floor.

"Yes, Jim," her mother affirmed, after a moment or two of
silence.  "You do remember Jim, don't you?"  The edge in the
older woman's voice was even more obvious and pronounced
than it had been at the beginning of the call.

"Of course I remember him," Scully replied, more sharply
than she'd intended.  She felt Mulder's arm sliding around
her shoulders in apparent concern, and she sighed slightly
and leaned in against him.  "How ... how's he doing?"

"He seems to be fine," Mrs. Scully answered.  "He's just
moved back to the area; says he's taken a position at Johns
Hopkins."

"Johns Hopkins," Scully repeated flatly.  "That's in
Baltimore."  A feeling of unreality was rapidly descending
on her.  She felt numb; dazed.

"Yes, it is," her mother replied, her tone confirming her
daughter's unspoken commentary:  a man who was working and
-- presumably -- living in Baltimore had driven all the way
to Alexandria, in order to attend the Scully family's
traditional church.  "He asked about you," the older woman
continued.  "But I didn't know what to tell him."

Scully paused and thought about that one for a moment.  What
should her mother have told him?  That she was doing fine
without him?  That would have been the simple truth, but it
wasn't Mrs. Scully's style -- and besides, there were other
issues.  Scully shook her head.  This wasn't getting her
anywhere --

"Dana, I've invited him to dinner on Friday.  I'd like for
you to be there, too."

Scully pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it
for a few seconds in disbelief.  Had she heard what she
thought she'd heard?  She was suddenly acutely aware of
Mulder's body tensing next to hers, and his arm around her
shoulder tightening a little -- and she realized that he
didn't understand any of what was going on.  She reached out
with her free hand and lightly stroked his knee, trying to
reassure him, and returned the telephone receiver to her
ear.

"Mom," she began, "I don't know --"

"Dana!"  Now it was her mother's turn to speak sharply.
"It's just for an evening.  It won't do you any harm at all,
and it might do some good."  Finally, her voice seemed to
soften, just a little.  "And it would mean a lot to me ...
and to your father, I'm sure."

Scully closed her eyes in resignation.  Anytime her mother
invoked her father's memory, she knew she'd lost.  And so
she sighed, and said, "Fine, Mom.  I'll be there.  What
time?"

"Eight o'clock will be fine," her mother replied, her voice
low and calm once more.

"Eight o'clock," Scully repeated.  "On Friday.  And mom ...
it's just for dinner.  You do understand that, don't you?"

The pause was just long enough that Scully wasn't sure
whether to take the answer at face value.  "Of course, dear.
 Now I've got to run.  You have a nice day, and I'll see you
on Friday."  And the connection was broken.

Scully sat quietly on the floor for several minutes after
the call ended, leaning against the couch, still holding the
receiver in her hand.  This was not happening.  It couldn't
be happening.  That part of her life was long since over;
she'd moved on, and she didn't need to revisit it ....

She was brought back to the present as Mulder gently took
the receiver from her hand and leaned across her to place it
back in the cradle.  She turned her head and continued to
watch him as he settled back down next to her, his other arm
still around her shoulders.  His face was bland,
expressionless -- but she knew that was just a facade.
Inside, she was sure that he was full of worry and concern
over her, plus a healthy dose of his own trademarked doubts
and insecurities.

She had to put a stop to that.  Now.  The problem was in
figuring out just how to go about it, and what to say.

The old Scully -- the Scully of six months ago -- would not
have had any difficulty dealing with this, of course.  The
old Scully would have ignored the matter, and gotten up to
dress and fix breakfast.  And if Mulder actually dared ask
any questions, the old Scully would have simply told him
that she was fine.

Fine.

But the old Scully was gone, she reminded herself, as she
cuddled a llittle closer to her partner drawing strength and
reassurance from the warmth of his body and the feel of his
skin against hers.  The old Scully was gone, and in her
place was the new Scully.  The new Scully had committed
herself to a personal relationship with Fox Mulder, and she
was determined to be open and honest with him about her
wants and needs -- and she was equally determined to do her
best to see to *his* wants and needs.

She was drawn from her introspection as Mulder abruptly
shifted his weight; in the next instant, he'd scooped her up
in his arms and pulled her into his lap.  Scully's body had
tensed as he started to lift her; now she forced herself to
relax, and she allowed him to cradle her securely against
his chest.

This was better, she thought, as she brought one hand up to
rest on his shoulder.  Much, much better.  Just being in
contact with Mulder helped her to ground herself, and regain
some perspective.  This really wasn't that big a deal, after
all.  It was embarrassing, and it was probably going to be
awkward, but that was all it was, and she could deal with
that.  *They* could deal with that, she amended in her mind.

"I suppose you're wondering what that phone call was all
about," she said at last.  Mulder didn't say anything, but
began gently stroking the outside of her thigh with one
hand.  "Mom ...."  She let her voice trail off, unsure what,
exactly, she wanted to say.  Dammit, it shouldn't be this
hard.  Why was she having so much trouble finding the words?

"I take it your mother bumped into someone at church this
morning," Mulder said at last, his voice low and hesitant,
as if he were afraid that he was treading on eggshells.

"That's right," Scully agreed, nodding her head against his
chest and silently blessing him for helping her move things
along.  "His name is Jim.  Jim Street.  He's someone I knew
... a long time ago."  Scully realized that the moment of
truth had arrived -- and she had a sudden rush of empathy
for how Mulder must have felt the day that Diana Fowley
reappeared in his life so unexpectedly.  She took a deep
breath, and added, "In fact, he's my ex-husband."

The silence that followed this announcement was nothing
short of deafening.  For a pair of minutes, Scully clung to
Mulder's chest, just listening to his heartbeat, not daring
to lift her gaze to meet his.  Waiting for a response.  Any
response.  Finally, she could stand the quiet no longer.

"Mulder?  Are you there?"

"Yeah, Scully," he replied, his voice sounding rough and
uncertain.  "Yeah, I'm here.  I was just ... you took me by
surprise, that's all."

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he insisted.  He
sounded stronger now, more confident, and his hand resumed
stroking the outside of her thigh -- and Scully breathed a
small sigh of relief.  Apparently it was going to be okay.
At least, so far.  "As I said, you startled me, but it's
fine.  I just ... didn't know."  Brief pause.  "Is it ... is
it something you want to talk about?  You seemed to be
pretty upset."

Scully suddenly felt very vulnerable.  The urge just to put
it all back in the box and tell him that she was fine was
nearly overwhelming.  She'd already done so much today;
wasn't it enough?  She fought down the temptation, though.
The old Scully is gone, she reminded herself firmly.  The
old Scully is gone.

"I guess ... maybe a little," she said.  "But it's all very
complicated and confusing, and it's come up so suddenly.
I'm not entirely sure what I think about it yet."

"I see."

The sudden note of reserve in Mulder's voice caused Scully
to realize that she'd made a mistake, and she lifted her
head off his chest and sought out his gaze.  His eyes were
now a cloudy, gray-green color -- a color she'd come to
associate with hurt and unhappiness.  Dammit; she was
screwing this up.

"Mulder," she whispered, lifting her hand from his shoulder
and tracing the outline of his lips with her fingertips.
"It's okay; I don't mean anything like that.  This ... this
isn't going to affect you and me, and what we are to each
other.  Not in the slightest.  I promise.  What's bothering
me is ... well ... there were some issues of closure.  I'd
pretty much gotten past them, and put it all behind me --
or, I thought I had.  But now Jim's back, and so some of
those old feelings are resurfacing.  Not feelings about
him," she hastened to add.  "Feelings about how it ended.
That's all."

Mulder nodded slowly, and she felt relief spreading through
her as she saw his eyes clearing a little.  "Okay," he said.
 "I understand."  Again, there was a brief pause, and he
added, "Was it... bad?  The marriage, I mean?"

Scully shook her head, and laid it back down on his chest.
"No," she replied.  "Most of it was pretty good.  It's just
the ending that was bad.  But he didn't abuse me or
anything, if that's what you're thinking.  And he wasn't
unfaithful."  She fell silent for a minute, trying to decide
what else to say.  But it really was complicated.  Finally,
she said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to take some time to
think about it.  We will talk about it; I promise.  I should
have told you about this a long time ago.  But not right
now.  Okay?"

"Sure, Scully.  I understand."  Once again his hand started
the rhythmic stroking of the outside of her thigh.  "But if
there's anything I can do, just say the word."

"I will," she replied.  And then, suddenly, it occurred to
her that there *was* something he could do.  It would be
asking an awfully lot of him ... but it would help her cope
with all of this; she was sure of it.  New Scully, she
reminded herself.  And she added, "Actually, there is
something.  As you probably worked out, Mom invited me to
dinner on Friday -- and Jim's going to be there.  I didn't
feel free to say no, but I really don't want to go, and --"

"And you want me to whip up a ghost hunt to get you out of
it?"  For the first time since the phone call, she heard
what sounded like amusement in her partner's voice, and she
couldn't help but smile against his chest.

"No," she said.  "That wasn't what I meant.  Although it
won't break my heart if something *does* happen to come up."
 She lifted her head up again; she wanted to see his face,
so she could gauge his reaction to what she was about to ask
of him.  "But what I meant was that I was wondering if you
would be willing to come with me on Friday."

Mulder's eyebrows shot up in apparent surprise.  "You want
me to go with you?" he repeated.  Scully nodded
apprehensively.  He wasn't going to refuse; he couldn't.
Now that she'd actually asked him, it was really hitting
home how much she wanted him to say yes.  He went on, "But
... of course, if you need me, you know I'm there for you.
But I haven't been invited."

"Yes, you have," she said steadily, still looking him square
in the eye.  "I've invited you."

"It's your mother's home, Scully," Mulder replied gently.

"Yes, it is," she answered.  "And she's always insisting
that it's still ours.  All the children, I mean.  And if
it's my home, then I'm entitled to bring home a ... a guest,
if I want to."

"Scully --"

"Mulder, this is important to me," she interrupted.  "I
don't know quite why Mom is setting this whole thing up."
She shrugged helplessly.  "I guess I don't really think
she's trying to get me and Jim back together, but ... well,
she and Dad didn't take the divorce very well.  And since I
was the one who ... who did it, they held me responsible.  I
had my reasons, but that didn't seem to matter to them. So
... please?"

Mulder still hesitated.  At last:  "She still doesn't know
about us, does she?  Your mother, I mean."

Scully shook her head.  "No, she doesn't.  So maybe it's
time she found out."  She cupped the back of his head with
her hand and kissed him gently.  "Please, Mulder.  For me?"

Finally, he smiled.  "Okay, Scully," he replied.  "For you."
 And he returned the kiss, and after that there was no more
talking.

================END CHAPTER ONE================

=========
Chapter Two
=========

Mulder swore softly and hit the brakes, narrowly missing the
battered Oldsmobile that didn't seem to want to let him
merge onto the highway.  Then he pressed down on the
accelerator again, and the car surged forward; a moment
later, they were over in the left lane, rolling smoothly
towards Washington.

Finally.

It had been, Mulder reflected, a long week.  A week that had
started far too early on Monday morning, when Skinner called
and dragged them out of a warm bed to send them off to
northern Minnesota to investigate a series of mysterious
disappearances.  A case that had dragged on for four days
without any visible signs of progress -- until, suddenly,
all of the victims had reappeared in their beds early this
morning, with no memory of what had happened or where they
had been.

At least it was June instead of December -- and wasn't it
lucky that Skinner hadn't known that Mulder and his partner
had been in the *same* bed when he called them at just past
five on Monday morning?  Mulder shuddered as he remembered
his hand reaching out sleepily for the ringing telephone.
Fortunately, Scully had gotten to it before he did ....

They didn't usually spend the night together on what they'd
come to refer to as "school nights", but she'd been so
obviously shaken by the phone call from her mother, and the
prospect of meeting her ex again on Friday, that Mulder
hadn't had the heart to go home that evening.  And, wonder
of wonders, she hadn't questioned the arrangement when he
suggested it was time for bed, but had simply nodded, and
watched with an unmistakeable air of solemn gratitude as he
crawled under the covers next to her.

As he maneuvered through the early evening traffic, Mulder
wondered for at least the hundredth time why the whole thing
was upsetting her so much.  This guy, Jim -- her ex-husband
-- she said he hadn't been abusive or unfaithful.  She'd
even said that most of the marriage had been good; just the
ending had been bad.

But something, obviously, had been wrong enough to make her
divorce the man, despite her parents' disapproval, despite
her religion's attitude towards divorce and despite what he
assumed would be her own determination to make that sort of
a relationship work.  If he knew anything about Dana Scully,
he knew that she would have taken her marriage vows very
seriously.

Something had clearly been wrong.

He glanced briefly over at his partner, to see that she was
staring distantly out the passenger side window.
Unfortunately, she hadn't brought the subject up again that
Sunday afternoon or evening, and Mulder had been reluctant
to raise it himself.  She'd promised they would talk about
it, and he hadn't wanted to push things, assuming that they
would have all week to find the right time.  It was her
life, after all, and her story to tell, and Mulder had an
acute idea of what it was like to have a ghost from the past
pop up unexpectedly.

But then Skinner had called, and they'd hurried off to
Minnesota, and they'd been so damned busy chasing false
leads and getting nowhere that they'd had no time for a
serious discussion.  And now here they were, heading back to
Washington on Friday evening, having arrived at the airport
just in time to keep the dinner date at her mother's place.

With Scully's ex in attendance.

God.

Mulder hadn't quite decided how he felt about all this.  On
the one hand, he knew full well that he had no room to
complain about her having kept it from him.  At least *her*
old flame was presumably not a Consortium agent.  He was
probably a very nice guy, in fact.  Mulder wouldn't expect
anything less from a man Scully had once thought well enough
of to marry.

On the other hand, he couldn't help but feel threatened by
the sudden reappearance of a man from her past.  The
rational part of his mind knew that he really had nothing to
worry about.  The two of them were together now, and it was
real and solid -- and Scully had reinforced that for him on
Sunday, both verbally and otherwise.

She'd also seemed to be a bit more affectionate than usual
during the few minutes of personal time they'd managed to
snatch here and there while they were working the case.  In
fact, her concern over his feelings, when she obviously had
plenty of her own worries to deal with, had moved him more
than he cared to admit.

But that hadn't been enough to keep his insecurities
completely at bay.  A quarter century of being betrayed and
abandoned by one loved one after another had conditioned him
to expect to be kicked.  He knew Scully wasn't going to do
that to him; she had stood by him through every conceivable
hardship in the past seven years.  But that knowledge didn't
stop him from cringing at the very thought of her being
reunited with a man she'd once been intimate with.  Which,
he was honest enough to admit to himself, was one of the
reasons he'd agreed to come with her tonight, despite his
instinctive feeling that this was a bad idea.

Well, he'd find out soon enough whether he really had
anything to worry about.  They were now approaching the exit
for Mrs. Scully's home.

#          #          #

"Dana ... and Fox?"

Scully suppressed a wince at the tone of surprise in her
mother's voice.  She knew she should have called and let her
mother know of her intention to bring Mulder along ... but
somehow, she hadn't quite got around to it.  No, that wasn't
really true, she thought.  She could have found time for a
quick phone call.  But in her heart of hearts, Scully had
feared her mother's reaction -- and another part of her,
small and ignoble, had wanted to surprise her mother as
badly as she, herself, had been surprised the previous
Sunday.

She shrugged off the thoughts, and moved forward into her
mother's arms, accepting the rather stiff embrace she was
offering.  Then she took a step back, and watched as the
other woman turned to face Mulder.

"Fox," Mrs. Scully said uncertainly.  "I ... wasn't
expecting you this evening."

"Mrs. Scully," Mulder replied gravely, briefly taking the
older woman's hand.  "I'm sorry to have my visit come as a
surprise.  Scu-- Dana and I have been out of town on a case
all week, and we've only just returned to Washington.  She
invited me to come with her this evening."

Scully was barely able to keep herself from laughing out
loud at Mulder's smooth rearrangement of the sequence of
events.  From the flicker in her mother's eyes as she
digested the statement, it was clear that she realized there
was something more to the story than what she was being told
-- but Mrs. Scully was a Navy wife, and thus a veteran of
nearly thirty years of the most intricate political
maneuverings imaginable, and so she simply nodded.

"Of course, Fox," she said.  "You know you're always welcome
here."  She stepped aside to usher them into the living
room.  "I'm sure Dana must have told you I have another
guest tonight.  Fox Mulder, I'd like you to meet Jim Street.
 Jim, Fox is Dana's partner from work."  She paused, and
glanced uneasily at first one man, and then the other, then
added, "I'll just leave you three to chat, while I go make
the final arrangements for dinner."  And she left the room.

And there he was, standing in front of the sofa and reaching
out for Mulder's hand.  As the two men exchanged greetings
-- hesitant and uncertain on both their parts, although,
Scully suspected, for very different reasons -- she took
advantage of the few extra seconds to study her former
husband.

He looked, she decided, much as he had the last time she'd
seen him, more than ten years ago.  Tall, dark-haired ...
still in pretty good physical condition, as best she could
tell.  He wore an expensive-looking dark suit over a
snow-white shirt and dark maroon tie, and his shoes looked
as if they'd been spit-shined.  He looked, in short, like
what he was:  a respected surgeon approaching the midpoint
of a successful career.

And she wasn't attracted to him at all.

Scully let out a small sigh of relief as she moved forward
to stand next to Mulder.  Her own reaction to being in Jim
Street's physical presence had been one of the many things
she'd been fretting about since her mother's phone call.
She was quite clear in her mind -- and her heart -- about
where she was and where she wanted to be.  But she'd been
afraid that simply standing in front of Jim might awaken
some of what they'd once shared -- and Mulder would have
been sure to detect it, and be hurt by it.

"Dana," Jim was saying.  "It's good to see you.  It's been a
long time."  The man was obviously struggling not to glance
back at her partner as he spoke to her -- and Scully
realized that he wasn't sure why Mulder was here.  Of
course, Mrs. Scully had introduced Mulder as her work
partner, but Jim was nobody's fool ....

"Yes, it has," she replied, almost unconsciously edging a
little closer to Mulder, until their arms brushed against
one another.  "How have you been?"

"I've been fine," he answered.  "Fine."  He hesitated, and
Scully realized that he was trying to decide whether he
should offer her a kiss of greeting.  Which meant that he
had previously planned to do so -- Jim Street never did
*anything* without a plan -- but Mulder's presence had
apparently thrown him off balance.

Good.

Scully was gradually coming to realize that her request that
Mulder be with her this evening had been motivated by more
than a simple need for mutual reassurance.  She had also
been a little nervous about her ex-husband's intentions, and
she'd wanted Mulder next to her as a sort of living,
breathing "no trespassing" sign.  So far, it seemed to be
working.

Also good.

Then Mrs. Scully returned from the kitchen to announce that
dinner was ready.

#          #          #

"Fox, would you mind helping me with the dishes?"

Mulder hesitated, and glanced at his partner, who was
standing behind her chair and looking right back at him.  He
waited for a second, hoping for some hint from her, but her
face was giving nothing away -- and Mrs. Scully's request
was something he couldn't politely decline in any case.

Me started gathering plates and silverware from the table.
Dinner had been quiet, and a little awkward.  There had been
little conversation, and what there had been had been
intermittent and disjointed.  Jim Street and Scully's mother
had done most of the talking; Scully had responded to
comments made to her, while Mulder had spoken hardly at all.

One reason for that was the geography, of course.  Mrs.
Scully had seated him on her left, and Street on her right,
with Scully in turn on *his* right, making them look rather
uncomfortably like the married couple they had once been,
while Mulder seemed to be cast in the role of the outsider,
with no one readily to hand who he was comfortable
conversing with.  He wondered if that had been the original
seating arrangement?  Or had he displaced Scully on her
mother's left hand, with the new place setting being the one
next to Street?

He shook his head, and moved out to the kitchen with his
load of dishes.  He wasn't going to get anywhere worrying
over things like that -- and besides, he was here to be
supportive of his partner, not to overwhelm her with his own
insecurities.  So he tried to put the matter out of his
mind.

"You can stack them here by the sink," Mrs. Scully commented
as he approached her.  "The water's almost ready."

Mulder nodded, and put the dishes down where she had
indicated.  Apparently "helping with the dishes" included
actually washing and drying them -- and he suddenly realized
that she must have deliberately maneuvered him out here so
that Scully and Street could be alone for a few minutes.
Which was only fair, he supposed; that *had* been the
original purpose of the visit -- Street apparently wanting a
chance to talk to his ex-wife.  But that didn't mean Mulder
had to like it.

"So how was the case?"

Mulder turned his gaze on Mrs. Scully, who was methodically
rubbing a sponge across one of the dinner plates.  As he
watched she finished with the plate, dipped it in the rinse
water, and then handed it to him.  He plucked a towel from
the rack on the overhead cupboard, and started to dry.

"It was fine," he replied.  "Fine.  More of the usual."  It
suddenly struck him that he wasn't sure how much of the
details of their work his partner had shared with her
mother.  "We were looking for some missing children out in
Minnesota.  Fortunately, they all turned up, so all's well
the end's well, I guess."

Mrs. Scully nodded, but didn't say anything, and for a
little while the two of them worked quietly on the dishes.
The simple, mechanical task of drying each item and putting
it in the drainer was soothing to Mulder, and was helping
him get his thoughts in order.  He still wondered what
Scully and Street were talking about, out in the living
room, but he found as the pile of dirty dishes was reduced
and the number in the drainer multiplied, that it wasn't
bothering him as much as it had been.

And he had a sudden rush of deja vu, as he remembered doing
this with Maggie Scully before.  It had been during Scully's
first abduction; he and his partner's mother had spent a lot
of time together during those horrible months, just being
together and talking, and trying to lend each other strength
and support.  They had formed a sort of bond out of their
shared worry and grief.

That bond had been weakened by the events surrounding
Scully's return, and the decision by Mrs. Scully to turn off
her daughter's respirator.  It had been weakened further
during Scully's fight with cancer.  But maybe, just maybe,
there was still something there.

"I presume that Dana has told you about her marriage," Mrs.
Scully said, rather abruptly.  They were working their way
through the silverware, now, and Mulder watched impassively
as she scrubbed harder than necessary at one of the forks.

"Not much," he admitted.  "Just that it was brief, and a
long time ago."

"It was brief," she agreed, her voice little above a murmur
as she handed Mulder the fork and went to work on one of the
knives.  "It lasted less than two years.  But it seems like
it was only yesterday."  Mulder didn't say anything, hoping
that the woman would decide to continue.  And after just a
moment, she did.

"It was ... difficult for both of us," she said, continuing
to work on the silverware.  "But it was especially hard for
the Captain -- Dana's father.  You never met him, did you?"

Mulder shook his head.  "No."  It was not lost on him that
Mrs. Scully seemed to be focused on how hard the divorce had
been on Scully's parents, rather than on Scully, herself.
But this didn't seem to be the time to mention it.

She nodded, and continued, "The Captain was so proud of his
little Starbuck.  The day he walked her down the aisle, I
thought his buttons were going to burst.  It was all part of
the master plan, you see -- the one he and Dana had worked
out for her over the years.  Medical school and residency; a
good man; home and family."

Her lips shaped a bittersweet smile.  "There was supposed to
be a prestigious fellowship, too, followed by a career in
medicine.  Dana actually had the fellowship in her pocket;
did you know that?"  She glanced at Mulder; he shook his
head, and she continued, "She did.  At Tufts.  Jim was
already up there; he was a year ahead of her.  Her father
was so proud the day the acceptance letter came, and Dana
was so excited ...."  Her voice trailed off.

After a moment's silence, Mulder asked, "What happened?"  He
knew he was asking the wrong person; he should simply wait
until Scully was ready to tell him about it.  But he
desperately needed the answer to this question.  He'd always
wondered what had made his partner decide to join the
Bureau, rather than pursuing her medical career, and he
couldn't resist this opportunity to find out.

Mrs. Scully was silent for a long minute; so long that
Mulder was beginning to think she might not answer at all.
Finally, she said, "You know, I'm not really sure.  I don't
think even Dana knows the answer to that.  It was a ...
difficult time for all of us, especially because she wasn't
really talking to us."

She took a deep breath, and went on, "But the fellowship at
Tufts came through in the late fall; it was supposed to
start the following July.  And as far anyone knew, it was
all settled.  But then one day in April she came home from
an overnight call at Georgetown and announced that she was
divorcing Jim and joining the FBI.  I don't think I'll ever
forget the look on her father's face when she told him about
it."

She stopped speaking and reached down into the sink to pull
the plug, then slowly stripped off her rubber gloves as she
watched the water swirl down the drain.  From the expression
on her face she seemed to be following a rather complex
chain of thought, but Mulder had no clue what it might be.
Finally, she spoke.

"Fox?  Are you and Dana ... involved?"

Mulder hesitated just an instant, then replied, "Dana and I
are very close.  As you know."

She turned her head to look at him, and for a moment she
seemed to be studying his face.  At last, she said, "That's
not really very responsive, is it?"  She shook her head
sadly, and looked away.  "Never mind.  It's really none of
my business.  Just remember that there are some things Dana
will never be able to give you."

She turned and walked out of the kitchen, and after a minute
or two, Mulder followed.  But as he stepped across the
threshold into the living room, he saw that it was empty.

#          #          #

"Why don't we take a little walk?"

Those had been Jim's words, a few minutes ago, when they
found themselves alone in the living room.  The same words
he'd used so many times in the past after they'd had dinner
with her parents, and he wanted a little time alone with
her.  Hopefully -- presumably -- he had different reasons
for asking, this time.

Dinner had been ... strange.  Her mother and Jim had carried
most of the conversation, while Mulder remained almost
completely silent, and Scully had felt herself unwillingly
slipping back in time.  She vividly recalled sitting at that
same table with Jim, listening quietly while he and Ahab
exchanged stories and opinions.  The two of them -- Jim and
her father -- they had been so good together --

Scully pushed the memories away.  That time was over, and it
needed to stay in the past.

"So.  How are things at the FBI?"

Scully glanced briefly up at her ex-husband, then looked
away again.  He was walking next to her, strolling really, a
little more space between than she'd been accustomed to when
they were married, but still closer than she liked.

"It's fine," she answered, and immediately regretted her
choice of words.  "It's very good, in fact.  Very rewarding.
 I feel like I'm really making a difference."

"You could have made a difference in medicine, you know."

Scully sighed.  "Yes," she said.  "I probably could have.
But it's not what I wanted to do."

"That's not what you thought when I met you."

"Jim."  She stopped walking and turned to face him.  "Is
there any point in rehashing all this again?  It's over, and
it's been over for a long time.  I made my decision."

"Yes, you did."  He stood quietly, looking at her for a
moment.  "Unfortunately, I didn't have the same
opportunity."

Anger flared within Scully, but she quickly suppressed it.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said quietly.  "But I did
what I felt I had to do."

"You always have," he replied, nodding reluctantly.  Again
he was quiet for a few seconds.  Finally, he sighed and
turned from her, and they began walking again.

Scully felt relief seeping through her as they moved along
the sidewalk.  She hadn't wanted to come to this dinner at
all; having shown up for it, she was grateful that Jim
apparently didn't want to push her into a pointless shouting
match over what might have been.

Of course, that still begged the question of what he *did*
want ....

"Jim, why are you here?"  The words were out of her mouth
before she realized she was going to say them.  Now she
restrained herself from turning to look at him again as she
waited for his answer.

"I wanted to see you again," he said, matter-of-factly.  As
if it were the most reasonable and understandable thing in
the world.

"But why now?" she persisted.  "Why after all these years?
You can't tell me this is the first time you've been back to
Washington since ... since the divorce.  And why did you do
it the way you did?"

He hesitated.  "What do you mean?"

Scully waved a hand in frustration, and reminded herself
that this man was *not* stupid.  "Why the subterfuge?  Why
did you show up in church last Sunday?  If you wanted to see
me, why didn't you just give me a call?  We could have got
together and had lunch, if that's all you wanted.  Why did
you have to ... to sneak around like this?"

"If I'd called and invited you to lunch, would you have said
yes?"

Scully shrugged.  "Maybe.  Why wouldn't I?  If you had
called me, and politely asked --"

"What about your boyfriend?"

With a sigh of exasperation, Scully turned to face her
ex-husband again -- and now she saw a challenge in his eyes.
 "What about him?" she asked flatly.  "I don't let other
people manage my life for me.  Not anymore."

Jim shook his head in apparent puzzlement.  "You're not
making any sense, Dana," he replied.  "No one was trying to
manage your life.  I just wanted you to be happy.  I still
do.  But from what I've seen tonight, I'm not sure if you
really are."

Scully stared at her ex-husband, thunderstruck.  He hadn't
really just said that, had he?  Was he really presuming to
judge the quality of her life, based on a couple of hours
over the dinner table?  A dozen possible responses flashed
through her mind, but she rejected them all.  There was no
answer to what Jim had just said, and there was no point in
trying to formulate one.

"I think we'd better go back inside," she said at last.
"It's getting late."  She started to turn away.

"Dana."  The touch on her shoulder was tentative;
featherlight.  Automatically, she turned to face him again.
She glanced down at his hand, resting lightly on her
shoulder, but before she had a chance to object to his
presumption, he was speaking again, his voice low and
meditative.  "I wonder what would happen if I tried to kiss
you?"

Scully felt her eyes widening in surprise -- but there was
only one response to that question.  "I'd ask you to stop,"
she said, without hesitation.

"Would you?"  The look he was giving her now was speculative
-- and she suddenly realized that he had kissed her for the
very first time right here on this street corner.

She shoved the thought away.  "Yes, I would," she said
evenly.

"I wonder," he said, very softly -- and he started to lean
in towards her, very slowly.

"Jim!"  Scully took a couple of hasty steps backward, until
she bumped up against a telephone poll.  He followed.  "What
are you --"

"You haven't said no," he pointed out, still moving slowly
towards her.

"Okay, fine," she said, finally letting the anger into her
voice.  "Stop.  I don't want to kiss you, and I don't want
you to touch me anymore.  Is that clear enough for you?"

For a dozen seconds or so it appeared to hang in the
balance.  Finally, Jim seemed to relax, and he threw her a
rueful smile.  "Just checking," he murmured.  "You can't
blame me for that, can you?"

Scully stared at her ex-husband in disbelief for another
long minute.  Had she ever really loved this man?  And if
so, had he changed?  Or had she?

It didn't really matter, she decided.  She was with Mulder,
now, and she was happy with him -- and even if she hadn't
already been involved with someone else, she had no interest
in trying to restart *this* relationship.  This whole
evening had been a mistake from the start, and it was time
for it to end.  And so, without another word, she turned
away from Jim and walked back towards her mother's house.

================END CHAPTER TWO================

=========
Chapter Three
=========

"Where are we going?"

Mulder glanced away from the late evening traffic, and over
at his partner.  She'd been unusually quiet since returning
from her walk with Jim Street, saying only that she was
tired and ready to leave before retreating into her own
thoughts.  Now she was sitting huddled against the passenger
side door of the car, and seemed somehow to be younger and
more vulnerable than he could ever remember seeing her.
Obviously, the visit had affected her rather strongly -- and
not in a good way.

Mulder was unsure how he, himself, felt about how the
evening had gone.  His conversation with Scully's mother had
been disquieting, to say the least.  He was trying to curb
his reaction to it all, since he'd only heard half the story
-- and the less important half, at that, since it wasn't
Scully's half.  Nevertheless, he was having difficulty
keeping his own innate feelings of insecurity under control.
 When he'd walked back into the living room, to find Scully
and her ex-husband were nowhere to be found --

"Mulder?"

"Sorry, Scully," Mulder said, shaking his head in an attempt
to drive the thoughts away.  "Woolgathering."  He glanced
over at her again.  "I assumed we were going to your place."

She seemed to consider that for a few seconds; then she
shook her head.  "I don't want to go to my place; I want to
go to your place."

Even as he was nodding agreement, Mulder felt his eyebrows
raising in mild surprise.  He'd assumed she would want to be
back in her own apartment; on her own turf.  Someplace she
could feel safe and protected.  But apparently that was not
the case.

"I want to go to your place," she repeated, very quietly.
He glanced over at her again, and saw that she was looking
right back at him, a solemn expression on her face.  "I want
to be with you, and I want to have your things around me.
Around us.  Does that make any sense?"

"If it's what you want, then it makes sense," he replied.
Suddenly his heart felt a little lighter.  She didn't want
to be on her turf; she didn't want to retreat behind her
walls.  She wanted to be with him.  It wasn't enough to lay
all his fears to rest, but it was helping considerably.

And then she was sliding across the seat towards him and
laying her head against his shoulder.  Awkwardly, he took
his right hand from the wheel and put that arm around her
shoulders, slowing the car slightly to allow for the fact
that he was now driving one handed.

For a few minutes, they rode together in silence.  Mulder
wanted to talk to her; he wanted to ask her what she and
Street had spoken about while they were outside.  Most of
all, he wanted to know about her marriage -- what it meant
to her, and why it had failed.  None of it was any of his
business, of course, but despite his best intentions, and
despite his partner's unambiguous reassurances, it continued
to eat at him.  And, somehow, Scully must have read his
mind, because after a few more minutes, she started to
speak.

"I met Jim when I was an M4," she said quietly.  "A fourth
year med student."  Her voice was soft and meditative -- and
Mulder was ashamed at his own feeling of relief as he
detected not the slightest hint of wistfulness or longing in
her tone.  "He was a year ahead of me, and had already
started his residency, and we were assigned to the same
inpatient team."

Mulder nodded, keeping his eyes on the traffic.  He didn't
say anything, but tightened his arm around her, cuddling her
a little closer into his side.  But whether it was to
comfort her, or himself, he wasn't sure.

"Anyway," she went on after a moment, "to make a long story
short, Jim and I hit it off right away.  And before very
long, we were ... seeing each other.  Dating.  Sleeping
together, although I didn't let my parents find out about
that."

She paused, and added, "Mulder?  Are you okay with this?  I
don't want to be upsetting you, and I don't want you to have
any doubt that I'm where I want to be.  But this was an
important time in my life, and I'd like for you to
understand."

"No, Scully," he said, his voice very low.  "It's okay.  I
want to hear about it."  In fact, Mulder wasn't entirely
sure that was true.  A few minutes ago, he'd thought he
wanted this, but he was finding the reality of it much
harder to take than he'd expected.  But it was a rare gift
for Scully to open herself to him so completely, and he
wasn't about to tell her to stop.

"Okay."  She was quiet for a minute, then went on, "The
funny thing is, we never really talked about getting married
-- Jim never proposed or anything.  It was just something
that we sort of ... knew was going to happen, after a while.
 People were expecting it.  Especially Mom and Dad."

"Did you love him?"  Mulder knew he didn't really want the
answer to that question, but he couldn't keep himself from
asking.

"Yes."  Her voice was very soft.  "Yes, I did.  I loved him
very much, and I believed in our marriage.  I wanted it to
work, and it broke my heart when it didn't."  Mulder felt an
almost unbearable tightness in his throat, but he couldn't
tell whether it was due to Scully's obvious sorrow, or his
own anxiety and hurt at hearing her speak of another man in
that way.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her watching him
carefully for a few seconds, as if she was measuring his
reaction to her words.  Then:  "So we were married.  There
were complications, of course, but we had planned for them.
Jim had finished his residency, and had won a fellowship at
Boston University, while I still had a year to go at
Georgetown.  So almost as soon as we were married, he had to
leave for Boston."

"That must have been very hard," Mulder murmured.

"It was."  He felt her nodding.  "Harder than I'd expected
it to be.  We only managed to spend about one weekend a
month together.  But in an odd way, it seemed to make our
marriage stronger.  When you're separated from someone, it
makes you appreciate them more when you *are* together.  At
least, that's how it was for me and Jim."

She fell silent again.  Finally, Mulder asked, "So what
happened?"

"The FBI happened."  Mulder could almost hear the
bittersweet smile in her voice.  "I'd already gone through
the application mill and won my own fellowship --"

"At Tufts," Mulder interjected.  "Your mother told me."

"Yes, at Tufts.  It was quite an opportunity, and just what
I'd been hoping for, geographically speaking.  But then one
day in February I was called into the Dean's office at
Georgetown, and he told me that the Bureau had embarked on a
new affirmative action push, and had put out feelers to
several dozen of the nation's top colleges and universities,
asking for recommendations.  And the Dean wanted permission
to submit my name."

"Wow."  Mulder had always known that his partner was
brilliant, and a top notch agent.  But he had never realized
that others had recognized her potential that long ago.
"That was some honor."

"Yes, it was."  She paused.  "Mulder, I didn't know what to
think.  I already had the appointment at Tufts; I was
supposed to report there in only a few more months.  And I
was really tired of living apart from Jim.  At the same
time, I was honestly flattered by the offer, and I didn't
want to snub Dean Williams.

"So I tried to explain the situation -- and I discovered
that they already knew about it."  She shrugged.  "Not that
our marriage was a secret, or anything, but it never
occurred to me that people that high up in the hierarchy
would know or care.  Anyway, Dean Williams said he'd already
taken the liberty of speaking to some people at the Bureau,
and had been given verbal assurances that if I applied, and
was accepted, and made it through the Academy, I would be
posted somewhere in the New England area."

"Wow," Mulder repeated.  "That's remarkable.  They must have
wanted you pretty badly."  He felt a small surge of pride
for his partner -- and once again he marveled that such an
amazing woman had chosen him.

And she *had* chosen him, he reminded himself.  No matter
how hard it was to listen to this account of her love affair
with another man, Jim Street had had his chance, and had
blown it, somehow.  And Mulder still wanted to know how that
had happened.  How had Street ever let this woman get away
from him?  What had he done wrong?

"It wasn't just me," Scully replied.  "They were really
serious about the whole program, and were trying to make it
as attractive as possible."  She shrugged again.  "Anyway,
the short version is that I let them set up the interview,
and the following week I drove down to Quantico.  And almost
as soon as I got there, I knew that *this* was what I
wanted."

"But your husband didn't agree."  Mulder spoke the words
very quietly, at the same time easing the car to a halt in
front of his building.  He didn't want to interrupt or
divert her, though, so he simply switched off the engine,
turned slightly in his seat, and took her more fully into
his arms.  He felt renewed warmth seeping into his body as
she wrapped her own arms around his waist, and rested her
head on his chest.

"He didn't understand, Mulder," she said, sounding like a
lost little girl.  "I thought he would at least discuss it
with me, but ... but he didn't.  He wouldn't.  I waited
until my next trip to Boston to bring it up with him, so we
could talk face to face, and ... and almost as soon as I
mentioned it, he started yelling at me.  He accused me of
hiding things from him.  Keeping secrets.

"At first I thought he was just surprised, and upset that we
might not be together as soon as we'd planned," she said.
"But that wasn't it at all.  Oh, he wasn't happy about that
part, but the real difficulty, what was really bothering
him, was accepting the idea of me in that role."

"What do you mean?"

"'No wife of mine is going to carry a gun,'" Scully said, an
edge of bitterness in her voice.  "He kept saying that, over
and over.  No matter where the argument went, or what I
said, he kept coming back to that statement:  'No wife of
mine is going to carry a gun.'  He just couldn't get away
from it, and the more I tried to argue with him, the angrier
he got."

She shook her head.  "It was so unlike him, and I was taken
completely by surprise.  Jim had always been completely open
and accepting of women in medicine, even in the surgical
specialties, which weren't -- and still aren't -- as well
integrated as the medical and psychiatric ones.  But this
... he just couldn't accept it.  I still don't know if it
was latent sexism, or if it was more personal.  If it was
just about me."

"So was that it?" Mulder asked, trying to give her a way to
bring the story to a close.  Surely she'd been through
enough for one night ....

"Not quite," she said with a sigh.  "Not quite.  We fought
all weekend -- and then I finally had to leave, and go back
to D.C.  I told him I'd think about it, and that I'd call
him the next weekend so we could talk some more.  And I
really did think about it, every spare minute I could find.
Finally, I decided that I'd have to give up on the FBI, and
go on as we'd originally planned."

"Give it up?" he asked, very softly.

"That's right," she said, nodding against his chest.  "I
decided to give it up.  My marriage was a prior commitment,
after all, and if it was upsetting my husband that much
...."  Her voice trailed off, but after just a second, she
went on.  "You have to understand, Mulder -- up to that
point, I'd spent most of my life trying to ... to ingratiate
myself to other people.  Trying to please them.  My father
... my brothers ... teachers.  It seemed perfectly natural
that I should give up something that I wanted very badly,
because it was upsetting someone close to me.

"So on Sunday afternoon, I called him, intending to tell him
what I'd decided.  But I didn't get the chance.  The first
words out of his mouth were, 'So have you come to your
senses yet?'"

"Jesus."

"I hung up on him," she went on, barely pausing to
acknowledge his interjection.  "I slammed the phone down and
left the house, and I didn't come back for hours.  Something
just snapped inside, and I was livid.  Here I'd spent that
entire week agonizing over that decision, and I'd finally
made up my mind and called to tell him -- and he just threw
it in my face like that.  He didn't even give me a chance to
tell him what I'd decided."

"Scully."  Mulder stopped himself.  He'd been about to say
that he was sorry, but that would've been a lie.  He
*wasn't* sorry her marriage had ended -- because if it
hadn't, she wouldn't be sitting here with him now.  It made
him feel like several kinds of bastard, but he couldn't make
himself regret any of it, no matter how much she'd been
hurt.  Finally, he just said, "I don't know what to say."

"It's okay," she said, drawing back from him a little and
looking into his eyes.  There were tear tracks on her
cheeks, and that made Mulder feel even worse.  "There really
isn't much more to tell, anyway," she went on, the
bitterness creeping back into her voice.  "It ended with the
proverbial whimper.  I kept waiting for Jim to call me and
apologize, but he never did.  A couple of weeks later, he
was supposed to come down for a visit, but he didn't show
up, and he didn't call.

"But *I* called *him*," she went on.  "I called him so many
times, I lost count.  All I ever got was his answering
machine, and he never called me back.  And when I wrote, he
didn't answer.  Eventually, I made an appointment to see a
lawyer."  She reached up and gently stroked Mulder's cheek;
despite himself, he found himself leaning into her touch.
Accepting her comfort.  "And that's the story," she said,
very softly.  "Now let's go upstairs and go to bed, okay?"

#          #          #

Scully stood in front of the mirror in Mulder's bathroom,
brushing her hair.  Tonight had been cathartic, she decided.
 At least, the ride home with Mulder had been.  It had
helped her regain her bearings after the confused and
distressing conversation with Jim, and Mulder's response had
been just what she'd needed.

She'd been a little afraid that he would think her reasons
for divorcing Jim were silly and trivial.  Conversely, she'd
feared that he might decide to paint Jim as a blackhearted
villain, and start beating his chest in a misguided display
of macho.  But he'd done neither of those things.  Instead,
he had radiated acceptance, and allowed her to tell the
story in the way she wanted to tell it.

And most importantly, he'd believed her.

That's something no one else had been willing to do -- not
even Missy, although she'd come closer than the others.  But
none of them had really believed her account of what
happened, or accepted her insistence that Jim's treatment of
her had been intolerable.  No one but Mulder understood
that.

No one but Mulder.

The one thing he hadn't given her tonight was his own
feelings on the subject, and that was a sure sign, in
Scully's mind, that he'd had a rough time of it, himself.
She didn't know what he and her mother had talked about
while they were together in the kitchen, but she did know
that he'd looked positively grim when she'd returned from
her walk with Jim.  Part of that had certainly been due to
the fact that she hadn't told him where she was going, or
why -- but not all of it.  Not by a long shot.

She smiled at herself in the mirror as she laid the brush
down on the washstand.  It seemed that both of them needed a
bit of decompression yet, tonight.  And they'd been waiting
for it long enough.

She left the bathroom and headed back down the hall to the
living room.  But as she reached Mulder's bedroom door, she
paused for a moment and looked down at herself.  She was
wearing her light blue cotton pajamas -- the ones she kept
stashed over at Mulder's.  They were comfortable and summer
weight, and certainly pretty enough -- but suddenly they
didn't seem like quite the right thing to be wearing.

A quick glance around the corner and into the living room
showed her that Mulder was still slouched on the sofa
channel surfing.  Yes, he really did need her as much as she
needed him.  Fine; she'd make this quick.

Scully stepped into the bedroom and quickly started
stripping off her pajamas.  Already her mind was working,
trying to figure out what she was going to wear instead.
She owned very little in the way of sexy lingerie.  It had
been years since she'd seen any reason to shop for that sort
of thing, and most of what she'd had she'd gotten rid of in
a fit of depression when she thought she was dying of
cancer.  The few remaining items were, of course, over at
her apartment, where they could do her no good at all, at
least for tonight.

She pulled open one of Mulder's bureau drawers, almost at
random , and started rooting through it -- and almost
immediately, she found what she was looking for.

A slow smile spread across her face as she pulled Mulder's
baseball jersey from the drawer -- the one he'd worn the
night "Fox Mantle" had invited her to a late night session
of batting practice.  That had been more than a year ago,
months and months before they'd finally become lovers, and
she'd never told him how good he looked in this jersey.

She brought it to her nose and sniffed at it.  Freshly
laundered, but with a lingering trace of Mulder's scent
clinging to it.  Perfect.

She quickly shrugged it on and fastened three or four of the
buttons.  She was about to turn away, when she spotted her
partner's "victory cap" sitting on the bureau -- the Yankees
cap she'd given him as a get well present during the World
Series the previous fall.  Her smile widened, and she
grabbed the cap and placed it on her head.  She briefly
considered his baseball mitt, sitting on the bureau next to
where the hat had been, but shook her head; too much.
Finally, she headed out to the living room.

For a moment she stood in the entryway, just looking at him.
 As far as she could tell, he hadn't moved since she'd
looked in on him a couple of minutes earlier.  He was still
stretched out on the sofa, eyes fixed on the television set,
thumb rhythmically clicked the remote every few seconds.
Politically Incorrect; Red Dwarf; a black and white film
with Boris Karloff; then back to Politically Incorrect
again.

The fourth time Bill Maher's face appeared on the screen,
Scully moved forward into the room, stepping quickly over to
stand in front of the sofa, effectively blocking her
partner's view of the TV.  It took a moment or two, but
finally his gaze flickered up to meet hers.

And, yes, the baseball jersey and cap had been a good
choice.  She was sure Mulder would have been appreciative of
her pajamas, but from the way his eyes lit up as he
apparently realized what she was wearing, she knew that
she'd really captured his attention.  Even as she was moving
forward to cover the remaining distance between them, he was
swinging himself around into a sitting position; a few
seconds later, Scully was straddling his lap, her arms wound
loosely around his neck.

"You know, Scully," Mulder murmured, pressing his forehead
against hers, "I never realized until now what a nice
looking shirt that really is."

Scully chuckled, low in her throat.  "*I* realized it, Agent
Mulder," she replied.  "I realized it that very first night.
 And it was all I could do to keep my hands to myself,
especially when the guy wearing it was kind of draped all
over me."  She felt his thumbs begin to massage her pelvic
bone through the rough material of the jersey.  "'Hips
before hands' indeed."

He brushed his lips across hers, and now it was his turn to
chuckle.  "Why, Agent Scully," he said.  "Are you saying
that you think you detected lewd intentions in the batting
lessons I gave you that night?"  She felt one of his hands
slip under the hem of the shirt she was wearing and start to
slide up her torso, while the other went to work on
unfastening its buttons..

"Yeah, Mulder," she breathed, dropping her lips to plant a
row of light kisses along his neck.  "That's what I'm
saying.  Are you denying it?"

"Never," he whispered, tilting his head in obvious
encouragement of her ministrations.  "At the time, I was
actually afraid I'd lost my touch."  Scully gasped softly as
his hand cupped her breast through the shirt.  A few seconds
later the last button gave way, and the baseball jersey
gaped open ... and then the hand that had been unfastening
the shirt slipped inside and started working on her other
breast.

"Oh, not at all," she replied.  She tangled her fingers in
his hair, holding his head still as she ran her tongue up
the side of his neck to his ear.  She felt her pulse
increase, partly because of the things his fingers were
doing to her nipples, but also because she was about to tell
him yet another of her secrets -- and she found herself
excited by the prospect, rather than frightened.

"Not at all, Mulder," she repeated, cuddling a little closer
to him and pressing down on his erection with her groin.  "I
was just ... afraid."

For just an instant, Mulder's hands stopped moving -- but
then they started up again, even as he was asking, in warm,
husky tones, "Afraid, Scully?  You?  That's hard to
believe."

Scully drew her head back from her partner's neck, and saw
that he was looking at her.  His eyes were dark with
passion, the pupils so greatly dilated that there was almost
no color left at all.  He wanted her; he wanted her badly.
Yet, he was holding back -- at least, he was holding back as
much as he could, under the circumstances.  He was waiting
to hear what she wanted to tell him.

God, she loved this man.

"I was afraid," she whispered, continuing to run her fingers
through his hair.  "I was afraid of ... of letting anyone
get that close again.  I was afraid of being let down.  I
was afraid of being hurt."

"I would never hurt you like that, Scully," he said,
matching her whisper with his own.

"I know," she replied.  "And I've known since we got back
from Antarctica how you felt and what you wanted.  I wanted
it, too; you have no idea how much I wanted it.  But ... I
had this history, and it took me a while to work past it."
She paused, and stroked a lock of hair back off his
forehead.  "But I'm glad I did."  And then she kissed him.

It began as a soft, almost chaste kiss, but it quickly
progressed to more.  Mulder's hands were touching her
everywhere, moving across her breasts, her back, her
shoulders, handling her with such gentleness and care that
it almost made her cry.  Scully wrapped her arms tightly
around his head, probing into his mouth with her tongue, and
aggressively thrusting against him with her hips.

Without breaking the kiss, Mulder eased her down onto the
sofa and covered her body with his own.  She was completely
surrounded; cocooned.  Everything was about Mulder:  his
taste, his scent, his touch, the weight of his body pressing
her down into the sofa cushions .... everything was just
right.  This was just what she had wanted when she asked to
be taken to his apartment tonight.  It was perfect.

Except that he wearing far too many clothes.

With great reluctance, Scully broke the kiss.  For a few
seconds she couldn't speak; she was too busy trying to catch
her breath -- and Mulder's hands, continuing to explore and
do wonderful things to her body, weren't helping matters at
all.  Finally, she reached down and grabbed his wrists, and
drew them up and pressed them between her breasts.

"Mulder," she said, "I want you naked.  Now."

Mulder smiled, and leaned down to kiss her again, briefly
but thoroughly.  Then he rolled off her and to his feet, and
Scully watched with unabashed appreciation as he undressed.

She wondered if Mulder realized how much she liked looking
at his body.  He always seemed so oblivious to his own
beauty, but surely she'd told him this; surely she had let
him know.

Even if she had, she decided, she couldn't remind him often
enough.  And so as his boxers slid down his legs to the
floor, and he moved to join her on the sofa again, she put
her hands on his hips and rose to her feet.

"Scully?"

"Shhh," she whispered.  "It's okay.  I just want to look at
you for a minute."  Mulder raised his eyebrows.  "Please,"
she added.  And after another second's hesitation, he
nodded, and straightened up again.

Scully rose to her feet, and proceeded to examine his body.
Her gaze followed her fingertips as she traced the outline
of his collarbone, the firm smoothness of his pectorals, the
hard, well-defined muscles of his abdomen..  His skin
rippled beneath her hands, and almost seemed to glow
wherever she touched him.  He was beautiful, transcendent,
and she couldn't get enough of touching him, exploring him,
looking at him.

She moved around to his back, and felt a familiar weakness
in her knees as her gaze fell upon the vision he presented
to her.  Through the years, Scully had developed a
fascination for his back that bordered on a fetish, at least
in part because it was the part of him she could watch
without being observed.  But even in the early days, before
she'd known him well, she'd enjoyed watching his shoulders
move beneath his jacket.  And that ass ....

Touching him with her hands was no longer enough.  Scully
stepped forward and slid her arms around him from behind,
rubbing her body against his as she did so.  God, it felt so
good; it felt so right.  She couldn't get enough contact,
and as she continued to give him a full body massage, she
let her hands slip down across his abdomen, seeking the
treasure she knew was waiting for her.

Suddenly he was turning in her arms and lifting her off the
ground.  Automatically, she brought her legs up and wrapped
them around his waist; a few seconds later, he was lowering
her to the sofa again, and she reached down between them and
guided him to her entrance.

"Scully," he whispered.  "Scully, look at me."  Scully
realized that her eyes had drifted shut as she waited for
him to enter her; now she forced them open, to see him
looking down at her with more love and joy than she could
ever remember seeing on his face.  "You're beautiful, too,"
he said, as he slowly eased himself downward and forward and
inward.  "So beautiful, it breaks my heart, sometimes."

And then he was there; he was all the way inside her, and
Scully heard herself whimper with desire.  He was around her
and inside her, and everytime she inhaled he filled her
lungs as well.  She would never get enough of this, and she
would certainly never grow tired of it.  And then he started
to move ....

"Oh, God," she moaned, as she began to dig her nails into
his back.  She needed to hold on to him; she needed to mark
him, and as her hips began to move in unison with his, she
tried to pull him closer, closer ....

God, she was so close; so close, already.  She heard herself
talking to him, now, babbling, saying his name over and
over, mingling endearments and soft, breathy declarations of
love.  And he was doing the same, grunting quiet, joyful
words, words that she no longer had the capacity to
understand, but somehow the meanings were crystal clear,
even so ....

She felt his body tense, and her own quivered in
anticipation, and she started crooning to him, urging him,
begging him to let go, to give himself to her.  It was all
she could think of; it was all she could feel; the universe
was a bubble, barely large enough to hold them both, and his
hot, moist breath was assaulting her ear ....

And suddenly Mulder made a noise somewhere between a sob and
a wail, and he gave one more thrust, and it was wonderful,
it was beautiful, it was perfect ....

Some long, golden time later, Scully was aware of Mulder
moving off of her.  She frowned slightly, and gave a murmur
of protest, but then he settled down next to her again,
spooning her, his hands clasped just below her breasts,
holding her against his chest, gently but firmly.

Keeping her warm.

Keeping her safe.

He would never let her go; she was sure of it.

And at least for tonight, she wasn't afraid at all.

================END CHAPTER THREE================

--
Build a man a fire, and you keep him warm for a single night.  Set a
man on fire, and you keep him warm for the rest of his life!
==========================
My fanfic wants to keep you warm:
http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html
And here's the page of recs that light *my* fire:
http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyRecs.html