From: Brandon Ray <publius@avalon.net>
Date: Wed, 26 Jan 2000 23:18:48 -0600
Subject: Summer's Lease 3:  August
Source: direct

TITLE:  Summer's Lease 3:  August 
by Brandon D. Ray

EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Do not archive at gossamer; I've
already sent it there.  Anywhere else is fine, so long as my
name stays on it and no money changes hands.

FEEDBACK:  Go ahead; knock yourself out.

Ephemeral: *FEEDBACK*publius@avalon.net

SPOILER STATEMENT:  Tithonus

RATING:  NC-17

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

CLASSIFICATION:  Story, Romance, Angst

SUMMARY:   Conclusion of the Summer's Lease series.  AKA
Brandon's version of the obligatory "a man from Scully's
past resurfaces, just at the wrong moment" story.

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

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is the third (and last) in a series. 
The previous stories can be found at my web site:

http://www.avalon.net/~publius/SummersLease.html

DISCLAIMER:  In my dreams...


Summer's Lease 3:  August

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 
=========

Mulder was dreaming.  That much was certain.

He was floating on his back in a tropical lagoon.  The sun
beat down on his skin, suffusing him with its life-giving
heat, and the warm, soothing water buoyed him up, rocking
him in its gentle embrace.  It was perfect.

The sky was also perfect.  Through slitted eyelids, he could
see it:  a beautiful, sapphire color, with not a cloud in
sight.  Just a deep, deep blue that seemed to go on forever,
and helped the ocean enfold him.

Someone was touching him, too.  A woman; somehow, he knew it
was a woman.  He could feel her hands delicately sliding
across his thighs.  Stroking, caressing ... it almost seemed
as if she was tasting him with her fingertips.  She was so
gentle; so loving; so caring.

He was already aroused, of course; already erect.  He was so
hard and swollen that it was almost painful.  Almost.  And
each time she touched him, she was a little closer to where
he wanted her to be.  And with each caress, he got a little
harder.

At last he felt her fingers, feather light, at the very base
of his penis.  His eyes were tightly shut now as he tried to
focus on what he was feeling, but still he could almost see
her hands as they stroked and fondled him.  Her fingers were
so beautiful and elegant, and somehow she seemed to know
exactly how to handle him:  when to caress; when to tickle;
when to squeeze.

And then he felt something warm and moist against the very
tip:  her lips.  Mulder felt his body shudder at the
sensation, and he gasped; an instant later her mouth was
sliding slowly down and over his cock.

God, this was good.  This was so, so good.  Mulder could no
longer remain completely passive, and as the woman's head
began to bob up and down, up and down, he reached down and
tangled his fingers in her hair.  It was very, very soft,
and slightly rough, like raw silk, and the swirling of her
tongue around his penis as her mouth continued to move on
him was little short of torture.

Nor had her hands been idle.  One of them now cupped his
balls, a single finger extending down and back to rub
against his perineum, in time with the motions of her head. 
The other hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his
erection, gently pumping the part that her mouth could not
reach.

This was not going to last very long, Mulder knew.  His body
was roaring with arousal, now, and bobbing freely in the
warm waters of the lagoon.  He was breathing through his
mouth, in short, sharp gasps, and he forced his eyes open,
the better to stare at the sky -- that beautiful, deep blue
sky.  Everything was so good; so wonderful; so perfect.

He felt his penis swelling, and she must have noticed, too,
because she increased her pace.   Every few strokes she
allowed her teeth to scrape against his cock, very, very
gently, sending additional jolts of fire rocketing into his
groin.  His orgasm was here, now, crouched deep inside his
belly, waiting, waiting, waiting -- waiting for one more
stroke, one more loving caress, wanting to draw this out,
searching, needing, begging for the tiniest remaining scrap
of pleasure ....

Suddenly, he was there, and there was no denying it. 
Mulder's hips arched uncontrollably, and he cried out in
release as he came, feeling the waves burst upon him,
building quickly to a single, bright explosive thrust --

And he was awake.  The lagoon was gone, and he was lying on
something soft and warm and yielding.  His bed, he thought
vacantly.  He was lying on his bed, and it had all been a
dream.  A dream ....

Well, not *all* of it had been a dream, because even as he
struggled to full wakefulness, something warm and moist was
gently licking and suckling at his slowly shrinking penis. 
She was cleaning him, he dimly realized.  And, somehow, he
lifted his head from the pillow and looked down, just as
Scully released him from her mouth, looked up at him, and
smiled.

"Jesus ...." he whispered, as she crawled up the bed and
cuddled against his side.  Her eyes were a bright, happy
blue, and Mulder felt a helpless surge of love for her as
she sighed and snuggled a little closer.  "Scully ... that
was amazing.  Thank you."

Her smile widened into an outright grin, and she replied,
very softly, "I've always wanted to do that.  Wake someone
up that way, I mean."  She turned her head as it rested on
his shoulder and placed a slow, open-mouthed kiss at the
base of his neck, before murmuring, "I'm so glad it turned
out to be you."

After a very brief hesitation, Mulder bent his head and
kissed her, deliberately running his tongue across her lips
until her mouth opened and allowed him to plunge inside. 
She tasted bitter and salty, a not entirely pleasant flavor
-- except that it reminded him of what she'd just done for
him.  And besides, it was *Scully*.

He moaned, and deepened the kiss, rolling her onto her back
as he did so.  One hand was cupping the back of her head,
while the other sought out her breast.  Her nipple puckered
under his touch, and she started making soft, breathless
noises into his mouth.  Already he felt himself hardening
again, but that was no surprise.  In the past few months,
since the advent of their love affair, he'd discovered to
his delight that Scully inspired him -- and his body -- in
ways that no other woman ever had.

At last her own flavor was beginning to dominate the kiss --
the flavor of her mouth, that Mulder had become so
accustomed to since the first of the year.  It was so
familiar, and yet he never tired of it; he could never get
enough.  It was warm and comforting and spicy, and
completely unlike anything he'd ever tasted in his life.  It
was surrounding him, enveloping him, but *still* it wasn't
enough; he wanted to crawl inside of her and never come out;
he wanted to wrap himself in her taste and her scent --

"Mulder."

Mulder was only vaguely aware that his partner was speaking
his name, and he was much too engrossed in exploring the
outline of her jaw with his lips and tongue to pay it any
heed.  Her skin had a flavor and texture all its own,
different from that of her mouth, yet somehow indisputably
also Scully.  He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and
nipped it, very lightly --

And he felt her fingers tangling in his hair, yanking on it,
pulling his head back.  He opened his eyes and looked down
at her, to see that her own eyes were dark with desire.  But
that desire was also mingled with amusement -- and regret.

"Mulder," she said, "it's almost seven.  My mother will be
here in --"

"Nine minutes, Scully," he interrupted, rolling her nipple
between his thumb and forefinger, and eliciting a slight
gasp.  "That's a very significant number, don't you think? 
And do you have any idea what I can do in nine minutes?"

"Oh, I have a very clear idea what you can do in a *very*
short amount of time," she replied, obviously fighting to
maintain a straight face.  She reached up and around with
her free hand and lightly traced the outline of his shoulder
blade, and for an instant he thought she was giving in --
until she suddenly executed a move that every agent learns
in the first week at the Academy.  In a matter of seconds,
he found himself sprawled on his back with his partner
straddling him, pinning his shoulders to the bed.

"However," she continued, now openly smirking at having so
easily turned the tables on him, "I am *not* going to greet
my mother with a just-been-fucked look on my face, and
smelling of sex.  Capiche?"

"'Capiche'?"  Mulder wiggled his eyebrows at her.  "I don't
believe I've ever heard your mafia voice before, Scully;
it's turning me on.  And have I ever mentioned just how
decadently sexy your just-been-fucked look is?"

He tried to draw her down for another kiss, but she
slithered out of his grasp and rolled off the bed and onto
her feet.  "Yes, I believe you have," she said.  Her
demeanor was cool and calm, and somehow very professional,
despite her nudity -- but humor still glinted in her eye as
she grabbed the pajama top Mulder hadn't bothered to wear
the night before, and shrugged it on.  "Now be a good little
agent, and go take a quick shower while I do something about
breakfast."

Scully turned away and glided towards the doorway -- but
just before exiting the room, she turned and threw him her
most sultry smile, and added, "And you have a pretty damned
good just-been-fucked look, yourself."  And then she was
gone.

#          #          #

Scully found herself humming as she rummaged through
Mulder's nearly-empty kitchen, looking for breakfast.  They
should have planned for this, she realized; they'd known
last night, when they were doing the last of the packing,
that they were going to need breakfast, but they simply
hadn't thought this far ahead.  Not that it really mattered
*that* much, but it was turning out to be inconvenient, and
it was going to slow them down a bit.

A slow smile crept across her lips, as she remembered the
expression on Mulder's face as he gradually came to full
consciousness.  That look of awe and love he'd given her, as
he finally realized what she'd done, and that it hadn't been
a dream, was providing all the nourishment she really
needed.

Finally she found some raisin bran, in one of the boxes of
non-perishable food items.  The eggs and milk and bacon had
been used up a couple of days ago, and with moving day
approaching they had not been replacing perishables, so they
were going to have to eat the cereal dry.  But in another
box Scully found a grapefruit, and an unopened can of V-8
juice.  Not the most appetizing of flavor combinations, but
it would have to do.

She gathered up the makeshift breakfast, and carried it out
to the living room, where she quickly laid it out on the
coffee table.  The dining room table, along with the sofa
and most of the other large items, had been moved the day
before by Byers, Langly and Frohike, along with those items
from her own apartment that they were taking with them to
their new place.  All that was left was Mulder's bed, as
well as a couple of carloads of miscellany that Scully had
decreed could not be entrusted to the tender mercies of
their friends.

Scully thought about that for a moment, as she proceeded to
cut the grapefruit in half and pour juice into two paper
cups.  It suddenly seemed very odd to her that those three
eccentrics now qualified as her best friends -- after
Mulder, of course.  Odd, but not entirely unfitting.  She
felt comfortable with them in a way that she hadn't felt
comfortable with anyone in a very long time -- since before
she joined the Bureau, really.

She also wasn't entirely sure how she and Mulder had come to
agree to move in together.  The subject had come up,
seemingly out of the blue, in the days following that
horrible fight she'd had with her mother at the beginning of
July.  And while in her heart Scully was sure that she
wasn't doing this just to get in her mother's face about her
relationship with Mulder, the decision had come soon enough
after the argument to leave Scully feeling faintly uneasy.

Once the decision was made, though, the details had caused
them very little difficulty.  They'd only looked at four
apartments before they found a place they both loved.  The
fact that they would now be splitting the rent had made it
easier to find something suitable, of course, but Scully was
nevertheless surprised at how few problems they'd had.  The
new apartment was in Arlington, close to both the Hoover
Building and National Airport; it had lots of extra storage
space; and it was large and airy, with hardwood floors and a
good southern exposure, ensuring plenty of sunlight.

The only thing it didn't have was a really good bathtub. 
Oh, it had a tub -- but it was one of those modern,
soulless, white porcelain models that look as if they've
been stamped out of plastic.  She was going to miss her old,
oversized clawfoot bathtub.  But that was the only thing
wrong with an otherwise perfect apartment -- and the most
important thing about the new place, of course, was that it
was going to have Mulder in it.

The Bureau had also been surprisingly easy to deal with. 
The day after they signed the lease, she and Mulder had
taken the bull by the horns and informed Skinner of the
change in their relationship.  Scully hadn't been quite sure
what to expect, but the A.D. had simply grunted, and waved
the subject away.  "Keep it out of the office, Agents," he'd
said, "and don't let it interfere with your field
assignments.  Beyond that, what you do on your own time is
your business."  And that had been that.

Scully was drawn from her reverie by a knock on the door. 
Automatically, she looked around at the place where the
living room clock used to be, but of course it was gone. 
The only person they were expecting was her mother, in any
case -- and glancing briefly down at herself, Scully
realized that she was still dressed only in Mulder's pajama
top.

Well, nothing to do about it now.  Scully took a deep breath
and moved to open the door, just as the knock was repeated.

"Mom."  Scully hesitated briefly before stepping forward to
hug her mother.  The two women had spoken on the phone
several times since the argument, and they'd had one awkward
lunch together, but their conversations had been light and
inconsequential.  Each of them seemed to fear that any
attempt at a more meaningful discussion might reignite the
anger that lay dormant between them.

Scully had been surprised when her mother volunteered to
help them move, although in retrospect, she wasn't quite
sure *why* she was surprised.  It was perfectly natural and
ordinary; it was the sort of thing family members did for
each other.

"I'm sorry, Dana; am I early?"

Scully's attention was jerked back to her mother, and she
realized that the older woman was still standing just inside
the open doorway, looking more than a little uncomfortable. 
Her gaze was resting on the breakfast settings Scully had
just finished laying out, and that must have prompted her
comment.

"No, Mom," she replied.  "You're right on time; we're just
running a bit behind, that's all."  She glanced down at
herself again, then looked back up at her mother with a
rueful smile.  "Sorry about ... this."  Scully managed to
suppress a wince at the sound of her own voice, and also had
to stop herself from yanking down on the bottom hem of
Mulder's pajama top.

She was making too much of this; she was sure of it.  By
offering to help them move, Mrs. Scully had already
implicitly acknowledged the fact that Mulder was her
daughter's lover.  So this was awkward, at worst -- and it
certainly shouldn't be coming as a surprise to the older
woman.

"So," Mrs. Scully said brightly, breaking the brief silence,
"what would you like me to do?"

Scully nodded, mostly to herself.  Right.  Let's keep this
to practicalities.  "Well, most of the packing's already
finished," she began.  "Mulder and I got more done last
night than we'd hoped.  The main thing that's left is my
kitchen -- the dishes and so forth still have to be packed
up."

Her mother smiled -- although, to Scully, it seemed a little
forced.  "That sounds like it's right up my alley.  Shall I
get going, then?"

"Actually, I was intending to send Mulder along with you, to
help with the lifting.  But it'll be a few minutes before he
can be ready to go."  She glanced around the barren room. 
"Um, there isn't really anywhere for you to sit, though
...."  The feeling of awkwardness that she'd had a few
minutes before was back again -- maybe it hadn't ever really
left.  Dammit!  What was this so hard?  This was her
*mother* after all --

"Dana, it's okay."  Scully looked sharply at her mother,
surprised at the sudden softness in the other woman's tone
-- and then she felt her eyebrows going up slightly at the
affectionate smile she saw on Mrs. Scully's face.  A smile
she had not seen in months.  Not since the disastrous dinner
with Jim, back in June.

"It really is okay, honey," Mrs. Scully continued, taking a
hesitant step towards her.  "I won't pretend that I'm
completely comfortable with .... this," she added, waving a
hand vaguely to take in the room.  "But you're my daughter,
and that's what truly matters, isn't it?"

Scully found that she couldn't force herself to meet her
mother's gaze.  "Of course it is," she said, very softly,
almost against her will.

"Dana," Mrs. Scully said.  Scully sighed, and this time she
did manage to look her mother in the eye.  "I *do* love you,
Dana -- no strings this time.  And I know that you love Fox,
and I ... I accept that.  And I'm so very sorry for the way
I reacted to it."

For the space of a dozen heartbeats, the words hung between
them, while Scully tried to come up with some sort of
response.  *Any* sort of response.  These were just the
words she'd been hoping to hear, weren't they?  Just the
ones she'd been *expecting* to hear, ever since Mrs. Scully
offered to help them move.  So why was everything still so
stiff and awkward?

She knew the answer to that one, of course.  Ahab ....

"Dana, there's something else I want to make clear to you. 
To ask your forgiveness for."  Now Mrs. Scully was the one
having difficulty making eye contact.  "I've been trying to
find a good time to say this to you, but it never seemed
quite right.  And I finally realized that I've been
stalling.  Dana ...."  Her voice trailed off, and she shook
her head.

"Mom," Scully said, reaching out and touching her mother's
elbow.  "Mom, it's okay.  You don't have to --"

"No, Dana!" the other woman said sharply.  "No, it's not
okay.  Because you were right that night we had the
argument.  About me and ... and Steve Benboe, I mean."  She
took a deep breath.  "Dana, I had no right to burden you
that way, and the situation *was* different from yours.  I'm
sorry," she repeated.

"Mom, it's okay."  Repeating those words was all that Scully
could think of to say as she took her mother into her arms
and held her close.  "It's okay."

"Dana, I loved your father."  Her mother's voice was muffled
against her shoulder, and Scully tightened her embrace.  "I
truly did.  I never meant to hurt him, and I didn't mean to
suggest that you --"

"Shhh."  Scully patted the older woman's back.  "Mom, please
don't.  I'm sure Daddy forgave you."

She felt Mrs. Scully shaking her head.  "He didn't know,
Dana.  I never told him."  She lifted her head from her
daughter's shoulder and Scully felt a tightness in her chest
as she saw tear tracks on her mother's face.  "I never told
him," she repeated.

"Well, he knows now," Scully replied, reaching up to tuck a
lock of hair behind her mother's ear.  "And I'm sure he
understands."

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

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

Mulder stood in the middle of the living room of Scully's
apartment, looking at the emptiness.

It seemed so strange to see this space without any hint of
his partner in it.  Her furniture was gone; the pictures
she'd had on the wall were gone; the little shelf of
knickknacks was gone -- even the curtains were gone.  The
room seemed barren; lifeless.  Scullyless.

Mulder knew he should be helping Mrs. Scully; she'd passed
straight through into the kitchen, and from the noises
filtering back out he knew she was already hard at work,
boxing up the contents of that room.  But he couldn't resist
the urge to drift through the apartment for a moment, just
looking at things.

Not that there was anything to see, of course -- not in the
literal sense.  But in his mind's eye, Mulder could still
see the things he'd become accustomed to seeing here.

He moved down the hall to the bedroom, but it was the same. 
Empty.  Abandoned.  He shook his head slightly, wondering
why he'd expected it to be any different.  He and the guys
had been over the day before and loaded up most of Scully's
possessions.  Hell, he'd helped carry the damn sofa down to
the truck, himself.  There was really no excuse for it to be
coming as such a surprise.

He also wondered why it was bothering him so much.  It was
just an empty apartment, and he'd certainly seen enough of
those over the years.  He'd lived most of his early life in
Chilmark, and for the past ten years or so he'd lived in
Alexandria, but he'd moved around a lot during the 80s.  So
Mulder was perfectly familiar with that bittersweet sense of
nostalgia that sets in when you realize that this is really
for good, and that you'll never be coming back to this
place.  But that wasn't what he was feeling now.

And then, suddenly, he realized what it was.  What was
bothering him was Scully -- or, rather, her absence.  For as
long as he'd known her, she'd lived here in these rooms, and
they'd become inextricably identified with her in his mind. 
They were a part of her, and she was a part of them.

Whenever he thought about Scully, he thought about her as
being in this apartment.  Finding it empty not just of her,
but also of her things, was triggering that old fear of
abandonment that he never seemed to be able to shake
completely.  The feeling that, sooner or later, this
wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman was
going to come to her senses, and leave him.  And the fact
that she was, at this moment, over in *their* new apartment,
only a few miles away, unpacking and putting away *their*
belongings so that they could make a new home for themselves
-- even that knowledge didn't seem to be enough to pull him
out of this funk.

He stopped wandering for a moment and closed his eyes,
trying to picture in his mind what she was doing.  She was
in the spare bedroom, he decided.  The one they'd designated
as the study, and which had received his beat-up old sofa,
both of their desks and computer workstations, and most of
their bookshelves.  She was methodically and efficiently
unpacking the boxes and boxes of books they'd both
accumulated over the years, sorting them, organizing them,
stopping from time to time to shake her head and laugh at
some of the more outlandish titles in his collection of
paranormal literature, and ultimately placing them on the
shelves, each book in its proper place, ready for use.

Mulder felt himself relaxing a bit, and realized that he was
still standing in Scully's empty bedroom, holding his cell
phone in his hand, his index finger poised over the button
for the first speed dial.  Was he really so insecure that he
had to hear her voice, just because of a little anxiety over
finding her apartment empty?  He smiled and shook his head,
then closed the phone and put it away.  Maybe not.

Maybe he really was changing.  God knew he'd been trying to
change, trying to get his fears under control.  Trying to
grow into someone worthy of Dana Scully.  And maybe, just
maybe, there was starting to be some progress in that
regard.

Feeling a little better, Mulder turned away and left the
bedroom, and headed back up the hall to the kitchen.  There
he found Mrs. Scully, as he'd expected.  But although two
boxes had already been filled with dishes, she was no longer
working.  She was, instead, simply standing at the counter,
staring at a matched pair of champagne flutes she held in
her hands.  And for a moment, he just stood in the doorway,
watching her.  Finally, she seemed to notice his presence,
carefully set down the flutes and turned to face him.

"Sorry, Fox," she murmured.  Glancing briefly at the flutes,
and then back at him, she went on, "I was just ... these
were a wedding gift the Captain and I gave to Dana and Jim. 
I hadn't realized she still had them, and they were bringing
back memories."

Mulder nodded slowly, and was relieved to find that her
words weren't troubling him the way her comments had the
night they'd all had dinner together, two months before.  He
waited for her to continue.

"I'm sorry, Fox," Mrs. Scully repeated with a sigh.  She
shook her head.  "I don't think I can explain what's been
going on in my head these past two months.  It's too ...
personal.  All I can say, really, is that I lost track of
what was important, and I think I ... projected some of my
own sorrows and regrets onto you and Dana.  Can you forgive
me?"

Mulder continued to stand in the doorway, looking at her,
trying to find something to say.  It was evident that what
his partner's mother had just said had cost her a great
deal, but he couldn't seem to find the words to respond. 
Finally, he stepped into the kitchen and walked over to
stand next to her.  He hesitated, then picked up one of the
champagne flutes and held it up to the light, running his
finger lightly along the rim.  At last, he carefully set it
back down on the counter, and turned to face the woman
standing next to him.

"They're very lovely, Mrs. Scully," he said softly.  "I'm
sure Dana appreciated them."

She nodded, an odd little smile on her face.  "She did. 
They both did."  She shook her head again, and seemed to be
having difficulty meeting his gaze.  "But it's over, isn't
it, Fox?"

Mulder nodded, resisting the impulse to take the woman in
his arms and hug her.  They weren't that close.  Not yet,
anyway.  "Yes," he replied.  "It's over.  It has been for a
long time."

Mrs. Scully stood in silence for a long minute, her eyes
still downcast.  Finally, she nodded quietly, and turned and
picked up one of the flutes and began wrapping it in
newspaper, preparatory to packing it in a box for the trip
to Arlington.  And after a few seconds Mulder turned away,
picked up one of the boxes she had already finished, and
carried it out to his car.

#          #          #

Scully's cell phone started ringing just as she inserted her
key in the lock.  She hurriedly finished opening the
apartment door, stepped inside and set the box of books she
was carrying on the floor, before flipping open her phone
and punching the connect button.

"Mulder, you have got the world's worst timing," she began,
ineffectually brushing at an errant lock of hair with her
free hand as she dropped down on the sofa.

There was a moment of silence.  Then:  "Agent Scully, this
is Assistant Director Skinner."

"Oh."  Scully felt herself flushing slightly, although she
wasn't quite sure why.  It wasn't as if she'd actually said
anything improper.  But she was still skittish about having
gone public with their relationship, especially with
Skinner, and she couldn't shake the slight feeling of
embarrassment -- like a teenager caught playing post office,
she thought.  "I'm sorry, sir.  I wasn't expecting it to be
you."

"No reason why you should have, Agent," the A.D. replied. 
"And I'm sorry to have to disturb you on your days off.  I
know this is moving day for you.  However, I've just
received a call from New York concerning Peyton Ritter."

"Agent Ritter?" she asked.  She quickly suppressed a shudder
as memories of the Felig case came filtering back to her. 
"What about him?"

"As you know," Skinner replied, "former Agent Ritter's
lawsuit seeking reinstatement with the Bureau goes to trial
this week.  In fact, the first session is this afternoon, in
New York."

"Yes, sir, I know," Scully said.  "I gave my deposition
three months ago."

"Yes, you did, and the Assistant U.S. Attorney handling the
case asked me to reiterate her satisfaction with your
testimony.  Unfortunately, she's just called to inform me
that the judge has granted a motion from Ritter's lawyer
demanding that you testify in person."

Scully closed her eyes for a moment in resignation.  She'd
hoped that they were past this.  She'd been through so many
damned hearings in connection with this case.  First there'd
been the shooting review; then the formal OPR action against
Ritter and his various appeals through the bureaucracy; then
the Bureau's investigation of her *own* conduct; and finally
this lawsuit, in which the disgraced former agent was
seeking to have his status with the Bureau restored.

Wasn't she ever going to be free of this case?  She hadn't
even *wanted* the assignment in the first place, and she had
been the true injured party -- not Ritter.  Unconsciously,
she rubbed at the spot on her abdomen where the man's bullet
had hit her.

"Agent Scully?"

"Sorry, sir," she said, opening her eyes again.  "I was just
... remembering.  When do I have to be there?"

"Two o'clock," the A.D. said.

"Today?"  Scully sat up straight.  "Sir, that's impossible. 
I --"

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully," Skinner said briefly, cutting her
off.  "I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter.  The
government's lawyers asked for a continuance, due to the
sudden necessity of your physical presence, but the motion
has been denied.  I can assure you that no one in the Bureau
or in the U.S. Attorney's office is happy about this."

Scully shook her head and sighed.  "No, sir.  Of course
not."

"I also need to apologize for not giving you more notice,"
the A.D. continued.  "I've known about this since yesterday
morning.  But the government lawyers assured me that
Ritter's motion for your appearance would be denied, and
then they assured me again that their request for a
continuance would be granted.  Unfortunately, their
assessment of the situation appears to have been
optimistic."

"I understand, sir."

"Kimberly has already made your airline reservation,"
Skinner concluded.  "Your flight leaves at noon, and your
ticket will be waiting for you at the TWA counter at
National.  Flight 1421.  Do you have any questions?"

Scully glanced at her watch, and saw that it was just a few
minutes before 9:30.  "No, sir," she replied.  "I'll be
there."

"Thank you, Agent Scully.  The Bureau appreciates your
flexibility on this matter."  And the connection was broken.

Scully sighed again, and punched the disconnect button on
her cell phone.  And for a moment, she just sat on the sofa
and looked around the room.

There were boxes everywhere.  Boxes of books, boxes of
clothes, boxes of personal papers -- there were even two
boxes of LP's that Mulder had had stashed in the back of a
closet.  He hadn't listened to them in years, and didn't
even own a record player, but he'd insisted on bringing them
along.

Nor was the furniture arranged in any particular order.  The
Gunmen and Mulder had hauled it all over here the previous
day, but they'd made no effort to put anything where it
belonged.  And now she was going to lose one full day, and
possibly two, because of some stupid legal shenanigans ....

Her gaze fell on the box marked "Videos - Mulder", and a
small smile crept across her face.  She wasn't going to have
time today to deal with most of this mess, but it would be
best to get *that* one out of the living room and into a
closet somewhere, before her mother arrived and started
putting things away.  Her mother did *not* need to know what
sort of movies Mulder collected -- and she most particularly
didn't need to know that her own daughter actually enjoyed
watching some of them, too.  In the right company, anyway.

And, of course, just as she rose to her feet to take care of
the matter, there was a knock on the door.

Scully sighed, and turned away from the box of videos to
open the door.  There weren't very many people it could be,
she thought.  Mulder and her mother had a key, of course. 
That pretty much left the Gunmen, or the realtor who'd
helped them find the place.  She hoped it was the guys; she
didn't really feel up to dealing with that smarmy
glad-hander today.

"Hello, Dana."

It was Jim Street.

Scully froze for a moment, staring in surprise at the man
who stood in the now-open doorway.  She hadn't seen him
since the dinner at her mother's house, two months before,
and she hadn't heard from him since the morning he and
Mulder had had words, the weekend she was away at the church
retreat --

"May I come in?"

For an instant, Scully was tempted to say no.  She
desperately wanted to just shut the door, thereby putting
this man out of her life, once and for all.  But even as she
was thinking about doing that, she found herself stepping
out of the way and motioning him into the apartment.  She
then took a moment longer than was really necessary to close
and lock the door, before finally turning to face him.

For a minute or two she simply stood there in silence,
watching as her ex-husband moved through the room, seemingly
at random.  He almost seemed to be conducting an inventory,
she thought, stopping here to run his fingers along the back
of a chair, then again over there, to trace the seam on one
of the boxes of books.

He was waiting, she realized.  Waiting for her to start the
conversation.  Well, to hell with that.  *She* hadn't called
this meeting.  If he had something he wanted to say, let him
say it.  And so she folded her arms across her chest, and
maintained her silence.

At last, Jim apparently ran out of things to look at, and
turned towards her, his hands in his pockets.  He seemed to
be struggling to find the words, and finally all he said
was, "Nice place."

"Thanks."  The word was out of her mouth reflexively, before
she could stop herself -- but then she pressed her lips
together and shook her head.  No more.  She wasn't going to
give this man anything more.

"Is it that hard to be civil, Dana?" Jim asked, taking a few
steps towards her.

"I'm being civil, Jim," she replied coolly, not moving from
her spot by the door.

He shook his head.  "No, you're not," he denied.  For a
second, he seemed to want to take another step towards her,
but then apparently decided against it.

Scully sighed and shook her head.  "What did you expect,
Jim?  Not just today ... but all summer?  Did you really
think you could just waltz back into my life and have things
be the same as they were?"

"Of course not, but ...."  Jim paused, and waved one arm. 
"Dana, I've never really understood what happened.  But I'd
like to."

"It's a little late for that now, isn't it?" she responded.

"Is it?"  And now he did take that step forward.  "Is it
ever really too late?" he asked, laying his hands on her
shoulders.

"Dammit, Jim!" Scully snapped, shaking him off and backing
away.  "I've asked you not to touch me anymore.  And yes, to
answer your question, it *is* too late, sometimes.  It's not
like you didn't have plenty of chances."

"Did I?"

Scully stared at her ex-husband in disbelief.  He wasn't
really serious, was he?  Finally, she shook her head again. 
"You have no idea, do you?" she said at last.  "No idea at
all."

He gave her a blank look, and she went on, "Jim, it wasn't
over until you *made* it be over.  That day I called you --
the Sunday after I got back to D.C. -- I was calling to tell
you that I was giving up the FBI.  I was going to finish up
at Georgetown and then take the fellowship at Tufts, just as
we'd planned."  More silence.  Incredulously:  "You really
didn't know, did you?"

"How was I supposed to know?"  His voice now sounded
petulant; childish.

"How were you supposed to know?"  Scully felt the old anger
rising within her, even as she was struggling to keep her
voice level and even.  "How were you supposed to know? 
Well, you could have started by giving me a chance to tell
you what I'd decided, before you went off on me.  You also
could have picked up the fucking phone any of the several
*dozen* times I tried to call you, or answered any of the
fourteen letters I sent.  Jesus, Jim, what was I supposed to
do?  Fly up to Boston and wait outside your door until you
came home, so I could prostrate myself and beg forgiveness?"

"You're not being fair, Dana."

"*I'm* not being fair?  Well that's too damned bad!"  Scully
was shouting now, but she didn't care.  She'd been holding
this in for so long, and she needed to get it out.  "I bent
over backwards for you, Jim.  I did everything I could to
save our marriage, short of completely giving up my own
self-respect.  And if that's not being fair, in your eyes,
then I'm sorry, because it was all I had to offer."

"It was all you *had* to offer."  The man's voice was very
low; so low that she had to strain to hear him.

"Yes, Jim," she snapped, wanting to drive home the point
beyond any possibility that he might misunderstand.  "'Had.'
 Past tense."

"I guess that's it, then," he muttered, almost as if he were
speaking to himself, rather than to her.  His hands were
jammed far down in his pockets, now, and his gaze was
directed at the floor.  And for a minute or two, he seemed
to be lost in thought.  Finally, he lifted his eyes to meet
hers.  "Did you know that I almost attended your
graduation?"

Scully felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and she
couldn't keep herself from asking, "At Georgetown?  From the
residency program?"

"No," he said, shaking his head with a sad smile.  "From the
FBI Academy.  Ahab -- your father kept me up to date on what
was happening, and that weekend I flew down from Boston.  I
was going to go; I really was.  It was going to be my big
gesture, and everything was going to be good again.  I
bought flowers, I even rented a limo.  But then I didn't
go."

Scully hesitated; she knew she should just let this all go,
and ask him to leave, but she found that she couldn't simply
shut the door on this part of her life completely.  "Why
didn't you?" she asked quietly.

Jim's smile turned crooked, and he shook his head again.  "I
don't know.  I really don't.  I just ... couldn't.  So I
spent the evening lying on the floor of the honeymoon suite
at the D.C. Hilton.  And the next morning, I caught my
flight back to Boston."

Scully tried to think of something to say to that, but there
really wasn't a response.  Finally, she simply said, "I
think you'd better go."

He looked at her for just a moment longer, then nodded.  "I
guess you're right."  Scully stood to one side, not wanting
to do anything that might encourage him to try to touch her
again.  She just wanted him gone, and the sooner the better.

She watched in silence as he moved to the door and pulled it
open.  He started to step out into the hallway, but then he
stopped, and Scully held her breath and wished she could
believe in telepathy, just for thirty seconds.  It's over,
Jim, she thought.  Just let it be over.

But of course, he could not, and he turned to face her, one
last time.  "Dana?  Will you answer one question for me?  If
I had come to your graduation that night ... would that have
been too late?"

For just an instant she considered answering his question. 
They'd meant a lot to each other once; surely he deserved to
know.  But he'd had his chance, she reminded herself, and
even as she was still considering how to respond, she heard
her voice saying, "Goodbye, Jim."  And after another moment,
he turned and walked away.

For several minutes after her ex-husband had gone, Scully
stood rooted in place, unable to move.  Her thoughts were
flooded by a confused mishmash of emotion, and she was
having trouble sorting everything out:  anger, hurt, a
terrible sense of loss.  And, if she were completely honest
with herself, some inchoate feeling -- not quite wistfulness
and not quite nostalgia -- for something that she now knew
in her heart had never really existed.

And God damn Jim, anyway, for stirring all this up.  Scully
shook her head angrily, and started pacing back and forth
through the living room, suddenly full of energy.  She
wondered if he had any inkling of the turmoil he'd caused in
her life these past two months, just by the unwelcome
intrusion of his presence.  She'd been happy, dammit, happy
and content in a relationship with a man for the first time,
really, since the divorce.  And then *he* had to reappear --

No!  She stopped pacing, and shook her head again.  She was
*not* going to let this get to her.  She just wasn't.  She
needed to ground herself, she needed to regain her focus --
and, of course, that meant only one thing:  Mulder.  She
needed Mulder.

Scully was darkly amused to find that she was rapidly
becoming aroused, just by thinking about her partner.  Oh,
yes, she thought.  That would be perfect; it would be just
the thing to take her mind off all of this, and give her an
outlet for some of the emotions coursing through her. 
Unfortunately, a quick glance at her watch revealed that it
was nearly ten o'clock, which meant that she had to be at
the airport in less than two hours.  If Mulder didn't show
up in the next few minutes, there wouldn't be time.  And of
course, her mother would probably be with him.

And then she heard a key in the lock, and a slow, predatory
smile spread across Scully's face.  He was here ....

#          #          #

"They're gonna know, Mulder ... oh, *God* yes ... harder! 
Oh ... yeah ... they're all gonna know ...."

"Who's gonna know what, Scully?" Mulder asked, struggling to
keep his voice steady as he thrust himself into her, over
and over.  Her back was up against the living room wall, her
legs wrapped around his waist, and he cradled her butt in
his hands, holding her in position.

He'd arrived home -- at their new home -- only a few moments
ago, and Scully had attacked him almost before he got the
door shut, explaining between kisses that Skinner had
called, and she had to leave for the airport in less than an
hour.  There was something else going on inside her head,
too, although Mulder wasn't sure what it was -- but he
wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  Mrs. Scully
had fortuitously decided to stay behind at her daughter's
old apartment to do some cleaning, and a damned good thing,
too --

"*They* are," Scully muttered, clearly having trouble
maintaining a coherent train of thought.  "People."  She
opened her eyes and looked at him, her head lolling
drunkenly on her shoulders.  "They're gonna -- oooohhhhh --
they're gonna know ... I've just been ... fucked --"

Mulder felt a growl rising in his throat as he realized what
she was saying.  Jesus -- he hadn't thought it possible to
be more turned on than he already was, but it was happening.
 He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on her buttocks
as he continued to drive into her.  Faster ... deeper ...
harder ....

"The cab driver ...." Scully gasped, digging her fingernails
into his shoulders.  "Th-the cab driver will be the first
.... oh sweet Mary ... oh Mulder ... don't -- don't stop ...
more ... more ... more ...."  For a moment she seemed to
have lost the power of speech entirely, and she simply clung
to him, panting.  Then:  "The cab driver who takes me to the
... the airport ... he'll know.  He'll take one look at
m-m-my face, and he'll know.  He'll know I've just b-been
fucked -- aaahhhhh ...."

Scully abruptly quit talking, and bit down on his shoulder,
hard -- and now it was Mulder's turn to gasp.  "Christ," he
muttered.  "Jesus, Scully ... it's so good ... so gooood
...."

"So good," she agreed, her words muffled by the fact that
she was now alternately biting and licking the side of his
neck.  Suddenly she lifted her head and looked him in the
eye, and Mulder felt his own arousal building even further
at the expression of raw lust on her face.  His legs were
shaking now, from supporting the extra weight, and he knew
from the hot, bright feeling at the base of his cock that he
wasn't going to last much longer.  And then Scully spoke
again, her voice low and husky and rich with desire, and her
words seemed to go directly to his groin.

"The ticket agent," she gasped, as he continued to pound
into her.  "Oh, God, Mulder ... the ticket agent will know
... and the flight attendants ... Jesus ... please ... more
... harder ... the flight attendants will w-w-watch me, all
the way to New York.  Yes, yes, yes ... like that ... yes
... th-they'll talk about me, in the back of the plane --"

She was continuing to talk to him, her breath hot and moist
against his ear, but Mulder could no longer understand the
words.  All he was aware of was her voice, flowing around
him and through him, and her hot, sweaty body pressed
between his own frame and the wall, as he continued to
drive, drive, drive.  He wanted to bury himself in her, he
wanted to completely lose himself, and the frenzied
desperation of Scully's voice was only making it better.

And dear God, she was there, he could tell; he'd come to
know her body's responses so very well.  Her legs were
tightening around his waist, and her fingernails were
digging frantically into his shoulders.  She had his earlobe
between her teeth, and she was growling, a deep, guttural
sound, and then her entire body seemed to cramp and spasm,
and Mulder was coming, too, and he was continuing to thrust
into her, each stroke harder than the last ....

Awareness returned to Mulder gradually, as he felt Scully
stirring sluggishly in his arms.  They were down on the
floor now half-sitting against the wall, their limbs tangled
together, his semi-erect cock still resting inside of her. 
Her head was resting on his shoulder, and he could feel her
breath tickling his ear.  He didn't ever want to move again.

"Hey."

He realized that she had lifted her head.  Unwillingly, he
opened his eyes, and saw her own bright, blue ones looking
back at him, with a depth of emotion that left him
breathless.  Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed her. 
He knew he needed to let her go, but he didn't want to.  He
really, truly just wanted to stay like this forever.

At last, though, she moved again in his arms, causing him to
slip out of her, and Mulder reluctantly released his lover
from his embrace.  He allowed his eyes to drift shut again,
but just as he thought she must surely have left to get
packed and dressed, he heard her whisper in his ear, "And
the guy sitting next to me on the plane is gonna know, too."

He felt her tongue briefly trace the outline of his ear, and
he reflexively reached out for her.  But she was already
gone, leaving a trail of laughter in her wake.

Mulder smiled.

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

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

Scully stared out the window at the Atlantic Ocean as it
glinted in the afternoon sunlight, and tried to will the
plane to fly a little faster.

She'd just spent nearly two full days in New York, and as
she'd expected from the start, it had been an exercise in
futility.  After hurrying to make the two o'clock deadline
imposed on her by Skinner, she'd wound up cooling her heels
in the U.S. Courthouse the entire afternoon, and wasn't
actually put on the stand until late the next day.  The
questioning had been predictable, and her answers
indistinguishable from the ones given on her deposition, but
they'd *still* held her over, and she hadn't been released
until just after lunch today.  Then the Assistant U.S.
Attorney had wanted to debrief her ....

Scully sighed and shook her head.  She didn't even care
about the outcome anymore; she'd even left before the
judge's decision was announced.  After everything that had
happened in the eighteen months since the Fellig case,
Peyton Ritter's ultimate fate seemed to be of little
consequence.  She just wanted to get back to Mulder.

Mulder.

Scully pressed her forehead against the glass, and let
herself think about her partner for a moment.  She'd been
surprised to find out how much she missed him on this trip. 
Certainly they'd spent time apart before.  Even since
becoming intimate, there'd been a few occasions when one or
the other of them had gone on short trips alone.  But for
some reason, this time Scully had found herself feeling like
a lovesick schoolgirl.  She'd finally given in to the
feeling the night before, and called him -- and when she
came up from the warm haze induced by the sound of his
voice, she'd been shocked to discover that more than an hour
had passed.

Well, soon she'd be with him again, and that would take care
of *that* little problem.  She hoped this wasn't going to be
a regular response to his absence, though.  Probably not,
she reassured herself.  Most likely, it was just brought on
by the disappointment of not getting to spend the first
night in their new apartment together.  Of course, that
knowledge wasn't going to stop her from enjoying the
reunion.

One good thing had come from this trip, though, she
reflected, finally turning her gaze away from the ocean,
leaning her head back and closing her eyes.  Coming hard on
the heels of what she hoped was her final encounter with
Jim, it had given her a chance to think about what, if
anything, she wanted to do about her former husband.

Annulment.

The idea had not been far from her mind for the past month;
not since her conversation with Father Landis at the church
retreat.  She hadn't discussed it with anyone else; not even
with Mulder.  She hadn't been sure how to raise it with him,
for fear that he might think her sudden interest in taking
this step had something to do with *their* relationship --
and she'd been frankly afraid of her mother's reaction. 
Although maybe now things were getting better.  Maybe Mom
would take it okay after all.

She wondered if she should have mentioned the possibility to
Jim, when he'd visited the new apartment two days ago. 
Ultimately, he had a right to know -- and of course, the
Church would not agree to proceed with the matter without
making an effort to contact the other party to the marriage.

Still, Scully hadn't felt comfortable raising the issue with
him at the time, and now, after two days of meditating on
it, she thought she knew why.  Jim had been invading her
privacy that morning.  In fact, he'd been invading her
privacy ever since he returned to the East Coast.  *Any*
action on her part that he could construe as her opening up
to him would only serve to prolong the process of getting
him out of her life, once and for all.

Once and for all.

Scully opened her eyes and stared at the back of the seat in
front of her.  That really was what she wanted, she
realized.  While he'd been away, she'd managed to
compartmentalize herself well enough that she didn't have to
deal with him, even in her memories.  But even then he'd
still been there, deep down inside, and his presence had
continued to affect her life, in large ways and in small.

Perhaps most importantly, he'd prevented her from opening
herself to Mulder in all the ways she'd wished to. 
Thankfully, she'd finally managed to overcome that, but now
her ex-husband's renewed physical presence, and his
unexplained desire to get in her face at random intervals,
was causing her to have renewed doubts and insecurities.

It was time to settle things, she decided.  Once and for
all.

#          #          #

Scully was late.

Mulder paused on his third pass through the living room to
look at the clock.  4:45.  No denying it now; she was late. 
Her flight had been due in at National at a little past two;
allowing for even the most generous of delays, plus typical
D.C. Friday afternoon traffic, she should have been here by
now.

She was late.

For the fourth or fifth time in the past hour, he considered
calling her on her cell phone, but once again he found the
will to resist.  As had happened the day before yesterday,
when he'd had the funk in her old apartment, Mulder found
himself drawing on an inner strength he hadn't previously
known he'd had.  It seemed silly to take pride in such a
small thing, but there it was.  For him, it was a big step.

And it was all because of Scully.

Mulder had spent the last two days unpacking, putting things
away and arranging furniture.  He hadn't mentioned this to
Scully -- it was part of the surprise he was planning for
her when she finally got home.  He knew she would be
expecting that a lot of work would remain to be done, and he
wanted everything to be perfect when she walked in the door.

Her phone call the night before had come as a surprise. 
Usually when she was away she didn't call him, unless there
was some practical reason for her to do so.  But last night
she had called, and she hadn't seemed to want to talk about
anything in particular.  She had apparently just wanted to
hear his voice.  She had missed him as much as he missed
her.  She hadn't come right out and said so, but Mulder
wasn't a complete idiot; he'd been able to read between the
lines.

He still wondered, though, what had happened while he and
her mother were over at Scully's old apartment that morning
before she went to New York.  She'd seemed to be her usual
self before they left, but when he returned a couple of
hours later, she'd been all over him.  It reminded him of
how she'd behaved the evening she'd come back from her
church retreat, the month before.

Now *that* was an interesting thought.  Mulder paused for a
moment in his pacing, and wondered if there could be any
connection.  He never had found out what had transpired
while she was on the retreat.  He'd asked her once, the
morning after she got back, and she'd asked for some time to
think.  The issue hadn't come up again, but Mulder knew his
partner well enough to know that just meant she hadn't
finished thinking about it.

A slight feeling of unease passed over him, as it suddenly
occurred to him that perhaps she was thinking about
marriage.  The elements were certainly there to have spurred
such thoughts:  the sudden reappearance of her ex-husband,
plus their own comparatively new, but growing, personal
relationship.  Of course, she was divorced, and Mulder
didn't think divorced Catholics were allowed to remarry --
at least, not without a lot of hassle and aggravation.

A sudden chill raced down his spine, as another thought
occurred to him.  She wasn't thinking about leaving the
Church for him, was she?  He examined the idea in his mind,
and tried to decide how he felt about that possibility. 
He'd never had much patience for organized religion -- at
least, not since Samantha was taken.  He hadn't been able to
reconcile the idea of a loving, caring God with what had
happened to his sister, and after a while he'd just put his
feelings about such things away in a box, and tried to
pretend they didn't exist.

Until Scully came into his life, that is.  Along with all
the other things she'd done for him over the years, the
quiet example of her own faith had caused him to re-examine
his own stand on those issues.  He knew he'd given her a
hard time about her religious beliefs, and even while he was
doing it, he'd felt badly about it.  But he'd also come to
love and appreciate her spiritual side, as an essential part
of the whole woman, and he was uneasy, to say the least, at
the idea that she might be considering giving any of that
up.

Especially over him.

Well, he thought, suppose she was?  Suppose, just for the
moment, that Scully was thinking about forsaking her Church
in order to form a deeper bond with him?  To be blunt,
suppose she was considering asking him to marry her?  Did he
want that?  If the answer was no, was he at least willing to
consider it, for her sake?

Mulder scrubbed at his face with his hands, and tried to put
his thoughts in order.  Why did life have to be so
complicated?  He didn't know the answers to any of those
questions -- and the mere fact that he *had* so many
questions in his mind, was probably a sign that he wasn't
ready to take a step of that magnitude.  He would just have
to hope that Scully *wasn't* forging ahead of him in this
area -- and that, most of all, she wasn't going to make any
irrevocable decisions without first talking to him about
what *he* wanted from their relationship.

God, that sounded selfish.

But it wasn't, really, and Mulder realized that almost
before the thought had finished forming.  He had to be clear
in his own mind, before he could even consider moving ahead
with Scully in that way.  It wouldn't be fair to either of
them to jump into something like that unless *both* of them
were sure.

Scully was smart enough to realize that, he reassured
himself, and she wasn't going to come home tonight and drop
some bombshell on him.  If she was keeping some things
inside her while she meditated on them, that was just
because it was her way of dealing with deep emotions.  She
would share her thoughts and feelings with him when she was
ready.  And if she needed his help in working out those
thoughts and feelings, she would ask for it.  Scully had
changed so much in the past seven months; she was so much
more open with him.  He *knew* she wouldn't hide anything
from him that he really needed to know.

And then, just as he'd reached that soothing conclusion, he
finally heard her key in the lock.

#          #          #

Scully was in heaven.  It was the only explanation for the
bliss she was currently experiencing.

She'd arrived home only a short time before.  Twenty
minutes?  Hell, who cared?  Mulder had been waiting for her
in the living room, and the look of joy on his face at
seeing her would be enough to fuel Scully's need for love
and emotional security for months.  Not that she wouldn't
take more if she could get it.

She moved slightly in her partner's embrace, snuggling back
a little closer against his chest and causing the water to
lap gently against them.  She was cradled between his
thighs, with his arms wrapped loosely but securely around
her waist, his hands clasped together on her belly.  One of
her hands rested lightly on top of his, and her other hand
stroked the side of the bathtub.  The antique, clawfoot
bathtub, that Mulder had had installed in their new
apartment in her absence.

"I can't believe you actually did this," she murmured,
allowing her hand to drop back into the water until it came
to rest on his knee.  "It must have cost a fortune."

"It wasn't cheap," he admitted.  "But I got permission
before we signed the lease, and I actually persuaded the
landlord that it would increase the value of the property. 
So we get a partial credit on the rent for the next three
months."

Scully smiled, and brought one of his hands up out of the
water so she could kiss it.  For a moment she allowed her
tongue to flick out and caress his knuckles, before she
finally returned it to the water, and its place on her
abdomen.

"I love you," she said quietly.  "Not just because of this
... not directly.  But because you're the sort of man who
thinks of things like this."  She craned her neck so she
could see into his eyes, and found uncertainty there.  "You
do know that, don't you Mulder?  You know what sort of man
you are?"

He hesitated, then shook his head slightly.  "What sort of
man am I, Scully?"

For at least the thousandth time in their partnership,
Scully was amazed at Mulder's lack of pretense or
affectation.  He wasn't fishing for compliments, and he
wasn't flagellating himself to evoke pity or reassurance on
her part.  He truly, honestly didn't know.  She stretched
her neck a little further, and brushed her lips against his
before she answered.

"You're the sort of man who cares about people who everyone
else has given up on," she told him.  "You're the sort of
man who spends a quarter of a century looking for a little
girl whom everyone else has forgotten.  Not just because
she's your sister, but because someone needs to look for
her, and no one else will."  She saw tears in his eyes, and
she kissed him again.  "And you're the sort of man who stays
by a woman's side for seven long years, with very little
encouragement, and when she finally realizes how much she
needs you, you gather her into your arms, without a word of
recrimination.  That's the sort of man you are, Mulder.  And
that's why I love you."

This time the kiss lasted for a long, long time, and long
before it ended, Scully felt tears forming in her own eyes. 
There was so much more she wanted to tell him about the good
that was inside of him.  There were so many more things she
wanted to say.  But those words would have to do, she
thought, at least for now.  There were practical matters to
be addressed, and there was love to be made.  There would be
plenty of time, later, to tell him in words just how well he
filled her heart.

She found herself turning in his arms, moving and twisting
in the water until finally she was straddling him, one arm
slipping comfortably around his neck, while the other moved
down between their bodies.  In a matter of seconds she'd
found him, and with a slight shift of her hips she was
sliding down around him, until he was buried as deeply
inside her as he could go, until they both were complete,
once again.  Until they both were perfect.

Perfect.

For a minute or two, Scully held perfectly still, barely
even breathing.  Just having him inside her, at this moment,
in their new home, seemed more profoundly joyful and
fulfilling than anything had ever been before.  She wondered
if he could feel it, too, and she opened her eyes -- to see
his eyes, warm and liquid and hazel, looking back at her
with a profound depth of emotion that she could not mistake.
 He was with her, she thought.  He was with her all the way,
and then some.

"Mulder," she whispered, her lips brushing against his with
every word she spoke.  "I need to tell you about something."
 It seemed so strange, on one level, to be bringing this up
with him now, in these circumstances.  And yet on another,
deeper level, it seemed so right, as if sharing this while
in a most intimate embrace was the only way that she could
possibly do this.

Her partner chuckled slightly, and she felt his fingertips
lightly tracing the length of her spine.  "Does this have to
do with that fat manila envelope that fell on the floor when
I swept you off your feet a little while ago?"

Scully felt her face crinkling into a smile, and she nodded,
her forehead rubbing against his.  "Yes, it does," she said.
 "I keep forgetting that you're a trained investigator." 
She moved her hips slightly, needing some friction.  She
didn't want them to get carried away -- not yet -- but she
found she couldn't remain completely still, either.  "I
stopped at St. John's on the way home from the airport," she
said at last.  "I wanted to talk to one of the priests about
something."

Mulder nodded, but didn't say anything.  His expression was
now sober and serious, and perhaps a little worried.  She
wanted his attention, but she didn't want him to be worried,
so she closed the distance between them and kissed him,
softly but deeply, before she continued.

"It's nothing to be concerned about, Mulder," she went on at
last.  "Nothing that will affect what's between us.  It's
just something I need to do, for myself."  She paused, and
took a breath, and said, "I've decided to ask the Church for
an annulment."  She waited for a moment, to see if he was
going to comment.  When he did not, she went on, "It's
something I've been thinking about for a while.  Since the
retreat last month."

Mulder smiled now, and nodded, as if she had somehow
confirmed something for him.  "So that's what it was," he
said.

Scully drew her head back a bit, and raised an eyebrow at
him.  "That's what *what* was?" she asked.

He chuckled and shook his head.  "Never mind.  Go on.  I
want to hear all about it."  He leaned forward, and
whispered against her lips, "I want to hear all about you."

Scully relaxed and settled down against him again, her head
coming to rest on his shoulder as her hips began to move
once more, so very, very slowly.  "Not much else to tell,
really," she replied.  She paused and allowed her tongue to
lightly trace the tendon in the side of his neck.  "I just
... need for it to be over.  Jim has been hovering in the
back of my mind for more than ten years, interfering with my
life and holding me back.  And now I'm finally ready to move
forward again."

Mulder's hands slid down her sides until they spanned her
waist, his thumbs lightly caressing her hipbones as he began
a gentle upward motion in time to her own downward
movements.  "That seems very reasonable," he murmured. 
"Overdue, even."  He turned his head, and she felt his
tongue flick in and out of her ear.  "I'm glad for you.  You
know that if there's anything I can do to help ...."

"I do," she moaned against his neck.  "I do.  I love you for
that, too.  And I probably will need your help.  Your
support."  She stopped speaking and licked her lips, and
somehow they both knew to pick up the tempo of their
lovemaking a bit.  "It's not an easy process, Mulder," she
went on.  "Father Landis ... oh, yes ... Father Landis said
it might take a year.  Maybe more.  I have to find
witnesses, and I'll have to interact with Jim, and I don't
know how he's going to react to all this ...."

Her voice trailed off as she lost the power to speak.  He
was moving firmly inside her now, thrusting up into her,
seeming to go a little deeper each time.  She was clinging
to his shoulders, clutching at them, riding him, and she was
already so very, very close.  She hadn't even noticed how
aroused she was becoming as they talked, how their words had
flowed around both of them in a very special and intimate
form of lovemaking.

"I love you, too, Scully."  Mulder's voice was soft and
gentle, his breath warm and moist against her ear, each
syllable pushing her a little higher, a little farther.  "I
don't even know the words to say to you.  All those years
you stayed with me, all the things we've been through
together ... No one else could have kept me alive and sane
through all of that.  No one else ...."

"No one else," she agreed, tightening her grip around his
shoulders and moving faster, ever faster.  "Never anyone
else."  The water was splashing around them, now,
splattering the walls and no doubt pooling on the floor as
their movements became ever more fierce, ever more violent. 
Scully was lost in a sea of emotion and sensation, her eyes
tightly shut as she and her lover took each other and tried
to become one.  So close, so close, so close ....

And then, suddenly, she was there, and she felt herself
tightening and clenching around him as she cried out with
joy and pleasure.  Mulder was continuing to thrust up into
her as wave after wave of fulfillment flooded through her,
and then he was there, too, his hands on her hips holding
her down, keeping her motionless, as he finally emptied
himself into her.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and opened her eyes. 
She wanted to see his face, she wanted to know his
expression as he came -- but already it was too late.  He
was over the peak and coming down again, even as he gave the
last of himself to her, even as she felt him fill her with
his most precious gift.

But she was not too late to hear his voice, as her head
settled down once more on his shoulder, and her body relaxed
and flowed down into the water and around him once again. 
And his words were warm and rich, and full of promise:

"Welcome home, Scully."

================THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY================