Date: Thu, 14 Aug 1997 13:31:19 -0400 (EDT)
From: JohnieRed@aol.com

Sweet Fizz

By Johnie

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living, dead or fictitious, 
is entirely coincidental.  Really, I've never heard of Chris Carter.  I don't even watch TV.  Especially not on 
Sunday nights.    

Category:  MSR 

Rating:  PG-13 (Yes, I did manage to briefly pull my filthy mind out of the NC-17 gutter briefly)
		The NC-17 gutter is a drainage pipe located on the Fox Studios lot, in case you 		
	were wondering.  

Spoilers: Fourth Season

Summary:  Scully has finally had enough of Mulder.  Or can he convince her she hasn't?  

Keywords:  MSR, mild angst

Comments:  To JohnieRed@aol.com  

Warning:  The title is sort of a comment on the whole piece.  Definitely not my usually stuff.  This was 
written because my evil editor told me I need to practice writing on the lighter side of life, you know 
rainbows, puppies, lollipops...  Just kidding!  Oh, just think of it as me writing after watching one too many 
Hallmark commercials.  Of course I did manage to sneak a little bit of melancholy in.  How can you climb to 
the peaks of happiness if you didn't start out in the depths of despair? Or at least the valley of angst? <grin>  
If you were looking for angst, don't worry I'm working on something right now.  Have to keep a nice yin 
and yang balance in my writing.  

My apologies to Michael Drayton (even though he's been very dead for a very long time) for quoting a line 
of his poetry out of context.

This one is for Stephanie.  That scene you where looking for?  The one that was so unspectacular 
previously?  Well, this story should make up for it.  My editor thought I should take your suggestion so 
consider it a birthday present!  Happy birthday, buddy!  Enjoy!  

***************************************************************************

"Mulder, I can't do this anymore," she said tossing the pile of papers onto the floor.  
She sighed elaborately, pulling the clip out of her hair, gathering it back up and snapping the clip back into 
place to hold the sloppy ponytail back.  

"Okay, we can take a break from the expense reports for a while," he said pulling himself up off of her living 
room floor and walking into the kitchen.

"Do you want something to drink?  I'm going to have an iced tea," he called back to her, his head inside the 
refrigerator.    

She picked up the files next to her, stuffing them into her briefcase and cutting her finger on the corner of 
the manila folder in the process.  Shit, she thought, that just adds insult to my already injured mood.  She 
followed Mulder into the kitchen and steeled herself for the confrontation   
she was about to force.  She rinsed her finger off and dabbed the tip with a tissue.  There was no blood.

"I don't mean the paperwork, Mulder."

He turned to face her, handing her a glass of tea.  "What then?" he asked with a quizzical
look on his face.

She sighed.  He looked genuinely unaware of what she was talking about but then again he was unusually 
dense when it came to their relationship.

"Mulder, I mean our relationship"

Now he looked even more confused, "I don't understand.  What can't you do anymore?"

She took a deep breath.  Her lungs felt dry, as though the tissues were stuck together like the insides of an 
old balloon.  She took another breath forcing them to expand.  She exhaled, "This charade, this pretending 
we are nothing to each other.  I can't stay in one more seedy motel lying in bed pretending I don't want to 
go to your room and beg you to make love to me.  I can't sit through another meeting with Skinner 
pretending I don't want to unbutton your shirt and run my hands over your bare chest.   And I cannot sit in 
that miserable basement office one more time pretending to be Agent Scully, platonic friend and partner to 
Agent Mulder."
Her voice betrayed only a slight tremor.  His expression was blank, she looked directly into his eyes before 
remembering she hadn't been able to read them for some time.  She dropped her gaze to his throat, the skin 
over his jugular bounced in a steady, normal rhythm.  She could feel her own pulse pick up, as the blood 
rushed to her face.

"Dana..." he entreated.  It was the tone one used with cranky toddlers and hysterics.

"Mulder, do not patronize me," she warned, her voice rising only slightly.  She had no intention of losing 
control while he remained calm.    

"Dana you know I-"

"No, no, I know nothing.  You are my lover, Mulder.  My lover.  Samantha's whereabouts were revealed to 
you over a year ago.  She doesn't remember what happened to her but she's healthy and happy, and she 
doesn't care!  You are the one who can't let go.  You are the one who refuses, refuses to be happy.  It's 
pathetic Mulder.  You're like a dog who's chased the same Pinto station wagon down the street for years, 
has finally caught it, and now doesn't know what to do with it."                         

"Scully, you know if they were to find out how I feel about you...  You remember what they did before- the 
abduction, the cancer," he pleaded, reaching out to touch her arm.

She angrily  brushed him away.  His words put her in a fine rage, the anger shifting over her like sand.  "I'm 
living an empty life.  I may as well have never been returned, died from the tumor."

He looked anguished, his voice only a whisper, "Dana, don't say that, don't ever say that.  We never would 
have-"

"What Mulder consummated our affections?"  She was using sarcasm to wound now.  She felt a small sense 
of satisfaction as she glanced at his throat and saw his pulse pick up.  

"Don't, Dana, don't do this to what we have."

"And what would that be Mulder?  I feel like your mistress, like your -wife' might catch us together.  I feel 
like this is a tawdry, back door affair you're having with a woman you don't think is good enough to-"

"Don't you ever say that to me Dana.  Don't cheapen this.  You know how I feel about you." he said, his 
voice rising to a roar.  "And you knew going into this that we would have to keep it a secret and you still 
walked into it with open arms so don't take on the tones of an injured, wronged woman now simply because 
you've grown tried of it."  He had dropped all defenses,  she could see his eyes blazing in a naked green 
fury.     

Suddenly she felt the anger wither away, normally his eyes only turned that color when they made love.  
"Mulder, this isn't about me being tired of you or how I feel or what I think or say.  You know I'm talking 
about you.  You're afraid to really be with me, afraid to be happy.  Both Sam and I have begged you to give 
up this ridiculous vendetta.  Just let it go."  She looked at him sadly not really expecting a different answer 
to the familiar argument but knowing there would have to be a different outcome this time.

"Dana, I can't.  What if they-"

She interrupted, she simply couldn't listen to it all again. "Fox, haven't you ever heard that living well is the 
best revenge?" she asked softly.

He stood silently in her kitchen for several minutes before turning and placing his glass in the sink.
"I'll see you in the office tomorrow, Scully," he said tiredly, walking through the kitchen and out of her 
apartment. 


Only then did she realize she had been holding the glass of iced tea the entire time.  If there's an iced tea in 
that bag...  She started to laugh hysterically.   She took deep gulp of the unsweetened slightly acidic liquid 
and found herself wishing for the sweet fizz of root beer.                

She went to the office for the next two weeks, barely speaking to Mulder and volunteering to assist in 
several autopsies to stay away from him.  Her nights were lonely but although she felt sad, she also felt 
strangely free.  And her lungs no longer had the dry, papery, constricted feeling that she has became so 
familiar with over the past several months.

She had no idea what she planned to do until Skinner called her into his office.  "Agent Scully, it has come 
to the attention of the Director that the X-files have become increasingly inactive over the past year.  We 
feel that Agent Mulder no longer requires a partner to pursue the amount of investigations that fall into the 
realm of paranormal.  Also your case resolution rate has dropped, and there has been some question as to 
the efficacy of your partnership."

"Sir, I think that both I and Agent Mulder's leave of absences -his for personal reasons, mine for health- 
have greatly contributed-"

"Yes, Agent Scully we have taken that into consideration, but," he continued, "I would still like you to 
consider a change.  The assistant director of the VCS has informed us that she will not be returning after she 
starts her maternity leave next month, it seems she's expecting twins and doesn't feel she can handle her 
workload and two newborns."  Scully suppressed a smile.  Skinner's tone hinted that he thought caring for 
twin infants was much more demanding than tracking murderers and kidnappers, and was possibly a 
punishment for being a bad person in a past life.   

Skinner paused and then said, "We would like you to consider the position, it's felt that the combination of 
your field experience and background in forensics would be a great asset to Violent Crimes."

"I'll consider the offer," she replied in shock.  Why wasn't she refusing?  She couldn't leave the X-files, 
could she?   

"Good.  I'd like your decision in three days," Skinner said, dismissing her.        


That night she dreamed.  She was standing on a hill in a hellish landscape with a craggy mountain range in 
black, bloody colors.  The dream Dana observed her surroundings, unafraid.  Looks like Goya could have 
painted this her subconscious mused.   
Then she heard Mulder's voice calling to her, "Dana, Daaana!".  She began running up the slope towards the 
sound, she got several yards before she realized she was barefoot.  She rubbed her foot, the volcanic rock 
she was moving across was jagged and had cut her feet.

"Mulder," she called into the red starless sky, "Mulder, come down I can't climb up there."

Suddenly he appeared several yards away.  "Come here, Dana," he pleaded.  She moved towards him, taking 
several painful steps but was frustrated that he seemed no closer.  "Come on, Dana.  Come on.  Just a little 
further," he urged.  But although she kept walking towards him  -she could see her progress in the changing 
ground- she got no closer.  She continued to struggle up the slope.

"Mulder, stop moving!" she cried, "Just come towards me a little."  She had been walking for what seemed 
like hours now.  Her feet were bleeding, she was having difficulty keeping her balance and still he was urging 
her on.  She felt her legs tremble, the calf muscles spasming.  She was so tired.  Why couldn't Mulder come 
downhill a little?  Thick fog and grey sooty clouds had moved in on her nightmare world obscuring her view 
of Mulder.  She was almost to the top of the mountain.  The height was dizzying, she tried not to look back 
down through the mist to the valley below.  

Mulder materialized out of the fog suddenly.  "Dana, hurry up!  Just a few more steps."

She tried but fell scraping her hands.  She looked down at her feet, they were torn, a bloody mess with bits 
of rock embedded in the open wounds; two of her toenails had been ripped off.  She noted with clinical 
detachment that she would need skin grafting since some of the wounds showed the white gleam of bone 
peeking through. 
She tried crawling forward but couldn't manage the remaining distance.  "Mulder, please, I can't walk 
anymore," she beseeched, reaching out a hand, "please come down and meet me."

"I can't Dana.  I can't walk down.  You have to keep moving," said Mulder, backing up a step.  He held a 
hand out to her.  "Just a little further."

She woke up with a start, sitting bolt uprighht in bed before she was even awake.  She yanked the sheet off 
in a single pull to look at her feet.  She ran her hands over the arches and toes.  The skin was smooth 
without even a blemish.  She concentrated on normalizing her breathing.  Wow, she thought, a psychologist 
would love to analyze that.  It certainly reflected how their working relationship was at times though, she 
mused.  Then suddenly she realized in the dream he called her Dana, the name he only used when they were 
alone together as lovers.  At work she was still Scully.  She decided she didn't need a psychologist to 
analyze that one. 

Even though the next day was Saturday she called Skinner and accepted the job offer.             

Mulder wasn't in the office on Monday.  Skinner had told her to take some of her vacation time before 
starting with the VCS and she agreed but she hadn't wanted to leave without telling Mulder.  She felt she 
owed him that.  
But Mulder was no where to be found and he hadn't answered his cell phone all day.  Screw him, she 
thought irritably, I'm not searching all over D.C. for him.  She went home to pack.  


Scully had been gone for two days before Mulder was called in to Skinner's office to discuss her transfer 
from the X-files and subsequent promotion.  He didn't let on to the Assistant Director that he had known 
nothing about it.   He had surmised after the last argument that it was inevitable their partnership would end 
so he wasn't surprised.  Depressed, but not surprised.

That night he went home and checked his e-mail for the first time in several days.  There was a message 
from Scully telling him about her promotion in brisk, professional language.  She informed him she was 
taking three weeks off and would return for one week to tie up loose ends in the X-files Division before 
joining the VCS.  Her message said him she was going to Nova Scotia to visit a friend for two weeks and 
would be in Montreal for the last week.  She was taking her cell phone but wouldn't carry it with her, she 
promised to check it's voicemail every evening but please call her only in an emergency.  There was nothing 
personal mentioned. 

Well, it's over, he thought,  I knew it wouldn't work but at least Dana loved me for a while.  He threw 
himself onto the couch, stretching out full length, expecting tears to come but there was nothing but a 
heaviness in his chest.  After several minutes he got back up to read the rest of his e-mail.

There was a message from Frohike asking if he wanted to watch the upcoming basketball game.  The Knicks 
were predicted to beat the tar out of the Celtics.   He reminded Mulder there was nothing quite like 
watching Langley, a Boston boy and MIT grad, go nuts over the Celtics.  Mulder sighed, he remembered all 
right.  Years after the event, he still had a disturbing mental image of Langley with green hair, covered in 
green body paint screaming at the top of his lungs that Larry Bird was god.  
The next message was from Sam.  She hadn't heard from him in days and Dana had called to let her know 
she was going out of the country for a few weeks.  -WHAT IS GOING ON FOX?' she had typed.  He 
swallowed.   She never typed in capital letters unless she was really, really pissed off.  Great, he thought, 
first Dana, now Sam.  The message went on to say he was expected at dinner the following night or she was 
coming over to check on him.  He knew she'd make good on the threat too.  He hated it when she came 
over.  Last time she saw the state of his apartment she bought him a weekly cleaning service for Christmas.  
He was too paranoid to like having unknown people in his apartment whether they were there to help or not.

The following day he left work early and drove to Sam's house in Pennsylvania.  She lived in a quiet 
neighborhood with her husband and two children.  She was a grade school teacher and loved children, when 
she was unable to have any of her own she adopted two-  first a baby girl from China and then three  years 
later an eighteen month old boy who was deaf.  The children were now four and two and a half.  The house 
always exploded with happy noise when he opened the door and today was no different.  He heard Anna's 
voice yelling from the kitchen, "Moommmy!  He pulled my ponytail again."                       
He heard Sam soothing the injured party and picking up the baby.  He could smell lasagna cooking and 
wondered for the millionth time how Sam managed to teach, care of two children and cook a decent dinner 
when he had trouble willing the energy to order take out some nights.  

"Hey, Sam, it's me," he called walking back to the kitchen.

"I'm glad to see you're finally using your key to let yourself in," she said, coming over to give him a peck on 
the cheek.  "Here take Troy so I can check on supper."

Mulder took the toddler from her and signed, "Hello, Troy." to him.  He then kneeled down to get a hug 
from Anna who had wrapped herself around his leg and chanting, "Uncle Fox, Uncle Fox."

"As you can see, the children haven't missed you a bit," she quipped.  She leaned over to open the oven, 
pulling the lasagna out.

"Oh, they never do," he shook his head in mock sadness, while Anna giggled madly and pushed him over so 
he was sitting on the floor.  At that moment Sam's husband Brad came through the back door bringing the 
family dog, a large golden lab, with him.  The dog immediately ran over to the tangle of people on the floor, 
adding to the melee.  Anna issued screams of delight as the dog began licking her face.           

"Okay, I'd say it's time to wash up for dinner and give Uncle Fox a minute to catch his breath,"  Brad said, 
giving Mulder a hand up and taking Troy from him.  "Let's go wash off the doggy slobber," he both signed 
and said, leading the children from the room.   

"You're lucky it was Sam's night to cook, Fox.  I just got a new recipe for blackened cajun tofu from a 
client and I'm dying to try it out," he called over his shoulder.

Mulder groaned and Sam giggled.  Brad was a physical therapist and self-proclaimed health food nut.  
Mulder had been subjected to Brad's healthy cooking on many an occasion now and although Mulder found 
it to be surprising good he never failed to tease his brother-in-law about it.       

Once the children and Brad left the room Sam demanded, "Okay, I want to know what's going on and I 
want to know now."

"Dana went on vacation-" he started.

"Fox, Dana didn't just go on vacation.  Her voice sounded too flat on the answering machine.  What did you 
do?"

He wasn't surprised he was being blamed.  Sam knew him too well.

"Nevermind," she said, "I can guess.  Dana got tired of your ridiculous -quest for the truth' and your 
pathological fear of being happy, and decided she needed to distance herself from you or go mad."

"Sam, I've explained why Dana and I can't be together.  What if-"

She interrupted again, "Fox, I love you but get over it.  I was the one who disappeared!  I didn't remember 
the first eight years of my life until last year and I still wouldn't if Brad and I hadn't taken that trip to 
Martha's Vineyard.  I still don't remember much of anything until I was twelve and living with the 
Levermans but the rest of my childhood was happy.  I married my college sweetheart and we have two great 
kids-  I don't spend my days worrying about -what if I disappear again?', -what if someone or something 
comes back to get me?', -who told Fox I was remembering and where I was?'.  It's unhealthy, Fox.  You 
yourself said you've had no leads, no evidence and no new activity that suggests government conspiracies 
involving alien life for over a year now.  Why can't you let it go?  You and Dana could be happy if you 
weren't so afraid to try.  You can't use me to get in the way of your happiness anymore so stop using your 
work."

"Hey, I thought I was the family psychologist," he said.

"Fox, please think about.  I think that if you do you'll be able to admit it to yourself," she said softly, coming 
over to give him a hug.

Dinner was enjoyable and lively.  The baby managed to paint his entire face with tomato sauce in the process 
of eating.  Sam took Troy upstairs for a bath while Fox and Brad played several games of Chutes and 
Ladders with Anna.  

After Anna went to bed, Fox made his excuses to leave.  Brad insisted on walking him to his car.  

"Nights like these I feel blessed with a good fortune that's normally reserved for mythological Greek gods," 
commented Brad.

"You and Sam have great kids," Mulder agreed.

"Yeah, it worked out pretty good.  We were afraid to adopt at first, then we got Anna.  It wasn't easy 
managing an international adoption but she made our lives so much more complete.  We decided we wanted 
another child but the waiting lists were so long and we were wary of adopting within the US.  You know, all 
those cases with birth mothers changing their minds a few years later and all that.  Then they offered Troy to 
us because he was older and deaf.   Our adoption counselor advised against it but we decided to take a few 
chances.  Anna and Troy turned out to be a great reward, certainly worth the difficulty, fear, and chances we 
took,"  Brad said casually as Mulder got in the car.  But Mulder knew the point he was trying to not-so-
subtly make and thought about it the whole way home-         

****

Mulder spent the next two weeks in a depressed funk, brooding about the basement of the Hoover building 
so when he asked Skinner for some personal time off the Assistant Director was only to happy to oblige.  
Mulder went home, packed and headed for the airport.  He didn't think it was a good idea to wait for Scully 
to come home. 

She had made her decisions, it was time to make his.

He arrived in Montreal in the evening and quickly picked up a rental car.  Scully had already been in town 
for two days and was leaving in five more, on Sunday, he had to start looking for her right away. 

 It took him until Friday morning to find her.           
  
He followed her from her hotel to the Botanical Gardens, wincing mentally as she walked through the 
Japanese rock gardens to the Insectarium.  Oh god, not bugs, he thought and muttered several choice curses 
under his breath.  He had the fleeting thought she knew he was following her and had gone in just to torture 
him. 

Then he realized how ridiculous that was, she was expecting him to run off to the Pacific Northwest in 
pursuit of bigfoot or something.  He was sure she was picturing him camped in the woods, brooding and 
punishing himself for having briefly enjoyed life.  

Well, he was still after the truth but it didn't have to be a solitary, deprived monk's quest.  Both Dana and 
Sam were right.  He was holding himself prisoner to -what if's' and his own fears that Scully would tire of 
playing the Two Musketeers with him.  He refused to turn into a lonely bitter man because of ordinary, 
garden variety trepidation. 
Gee, Mulder, he thought ruefully, fear of commitment and low self-esteem, what original neuroses you have.  

He watched her walk into the building and figured he had at least a couple of hours before she returned to 
her hotel.  If he knew Scully as well as he thought he did, she would finish looking at all the crawly things 
and then walk back through the gardens, methodically looking at each exhibit, on her way back towards the 
exit.  

He discovered that about her after they became lovers, that she liked to do those things backwards.  

On a rainy Saturday, they had gone to an exhibit of Winslow Homer's art-  She had insisted on walking 
through the whole thing and starting at the end.  First looking at his seascapes done at the end of his life, 
then moving on to his paintings of fly fishing and tropical islands, and finally back to his portraits of civil war 
soldiers and some sketches from his childhood.

He had laughed at her methods, asking why.  She had said she wanted to first see the culmination of a life 
time of studying painting and the art of light, shadow, and form.  Then she would go back to see how it 
evolved.  She needed to peel back the layers of the man, the artist, like an onion.  It was the background in 
forensics.  It made her want to see everything as a whole and then slowly watch it come apart, inspecting 
every bit as it fell away.

He laughed to himself, it was precisely what made her a great agent and it was precisely why she wasn't 
going to see what was coming.  The action he was about to take was, for him, a behavioral aberration.   She 
would be surprised, very surprised, because she would review all the information at hand, peel back the 
layers, and then come to a faulty conclusion because she would have forgotten to consider one of the single 
most important factors in his life, the factor that pierced through every layer: Dana Scully.       

****

Dana ran water into the tub and dumped rosemary bath oil in.  The label said it was supposed improve 
circulation and revive tired muscles.  She hoped so, she was stiff from craning her every which way, looking 
at the twists and turns in the limbs of bonsai trees. 

She had been fascinated by the tiny trees.  She tried to tell herself it was because they took such discipline to 
create but in reality it was simply because she thought they were cute.  They reminded her of the dollhouse 
she had when she was six years old.  She had loved the miniature chairs, sinks, bunk beds, and foot stools.  
Why not miniature trees?  Even she had to be whimsical sometimes.

She was stepping out of the bath when her phone rang.  It was the clerk notifying her she had a message at 
the front desk.  He refused to read it through, insisting it was a violation of privacy and that she needed to 
come pick it up.  

She sighed heavily, threw on jeans and a sweater and took the elevator down to get it. 

This better be important Mom, she thought as she lay back on the bed, back from her little trip.  Her mother 
was the only one who knew where she was staying so she assumed it was from her.  Then she opened it and 
dropped it in shock.  It was in Mulder's handwriting.

It was several minutes before she could bring herself to read it.


Dana, 

Thought I would stay in DC and brood?  How dare you assume I've become predictable.  Meet me at Cafe 
Reuben at 10:30pm?  
I'll be the one wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

Mulder

 
She did know what to think.  Actually, she couldn't think, her mind was numb.  Mulder was right, she hadn't 
expected him to come after her.  She hadn't expected him to do anything more than wish her well, act 
horribly professional, and brood around the basement doing his best imitation of  Heathcliff out on the 
moors.

Well, don't think about it, just go, go and see what he wants she told herself.  

******

She sat outdoors on the stone patio, staring alternately down at the cobblestone street and out at the river.  
It was 10:45 and he hadn't appeared yet.  He has about two more minutes before I leave, she thought.  Then 
he suddenly drifted out of the shadows and sat down opposite her.  "Hello, Dana," was all he said.

She stared at him for several minutes, he looked very, very good in tight jeans, a grey sweater and black 
leather jacket.  Yeah, he looks reaalll gooood, she drawled mentally, most of her vocabulary escaping her as 
she remembered the last time he wore that particular sweater.  
She had pulled the neck up over and behind his head, pushing it down until his arms were pinned behind his 
back by the sleeves.  And then she had slowly had her way with him.  Kissing the tip of his nose, sucking on 
his lower lip, slowly licking her way down his neck to his bare chest...   She could feel her temperature rise 
at the memory.       

"Congratulations on your new job," he said, returning her intense unblinking gaze.

She couldn't detect a tone suggesting feelings of disloyalty or anger directed towards her.

"Thanks," she replied, "What do you want Mulder?"

"Forgiveness?  You?"

She smiled, toying with the espresso spoon in her saucer.  It was comforting to know that although he had 
obviously changed his attitude, he hadn't altered his sense of humor any in two weeks.

"Well, since you've had both before I suppose it isn't unreasonable to think you might earn both again," she 
said wryly.

He laughed.  "Oh, I think I can earn both if you open yourself to extreme possibilities, Dana," he said in his 
Spooky Mulder voice.  She closed her eyes briefly.  She thought of the first time she heard the tone-  Do you 
believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life, Agent Scully?  

Well, against my better judgement I answered him instead of concluding that he was a certifiable lunatic and 
demanding an immediate transfer so I should have learned my... oh, what the hell, she thought.  

She spoke before she could change her mind, "Okay, Mulder.  Extreme me."

He ran a hand through his hair and stood up, crossing over to stand behind her.  He leaned down, brushing 
her hair away from her neck, and with a chuckle, whispered in her ear, "Just remember, Dana.  You asked 
for it."          
   
She turned around to demand to know what he meant by that but he was gone-  She turned back around to 
sip her cappucino, the autumn air and Mulder's promise had given her a chill. 

She dropped the cup back into the saucer and suddenly noticed what Mulder had left behind.  A foot away 
from her cup was a lilliputian origami crane in gold foil.  She picked it up and was idly toying with the paper 
bird, wondering if she'd be sorry she hadn't told Mulder to go pound sand, when she noticed it was 
unusually heavy for a bit of paper.  

That's odd, she thought, pinching it between her thumb and index finger-  There was something hard in it.  
She was almost afraid to but she slowly began unfolding it.  I feel like a kid looking for the prize in the 
Cracker Jack box, she thought wryly. 

She caught her breathe as she opened the last fold.  Inside was a wide gold band with a square cut diamond 
set into it.  Written on the inside of the foil in Mulder's writing was the question: Mrs. Spooky?  

She bit her lip.  Surely he didn't mean...  no, he couldn't but what else could-,  her thought were interrupted 
by a voice.

"Excuse me.  Are you Dana Scully?"

She turned around to see a man standing in front of a horse drawn carriage.

"Yes," she answered.

"Then would you please come with me?" he requested.

She didn't say a word.  She just got up, threw a few dollars onto the table and walked over, allowing the 
man to help her up into the carriage.  

The driver didn't offer an explanation and she didn't ask for one.  She was still playing with the ring trying 
to figure out exactly what Mulder was up to.  She pondered the meaning of the ring and  listened to the 
clop-clop-clop of the horse's hooves as they rode through the old section of the city to a small church.  
The driver got down and helped her out of the carriage, gesturing that she should climb the stairs and enter.  
She reached for her purse and the driver shook his head, letting her know he had been paid.  "I feel like I've 
gone down the rabbit hole and am conversing with a mime," she grumbled.    

The driver smiled and climbed back up onto the carriage and drove away, murmuring unintelligibly to the 
horse as they disappeared down the street.  She looked up regarding the church as she climbed the steps, it 
was much smaller than any of the other churches she had seen in Montreal and it was crowded into it's 
neighborhood, buildings closely surrounding it on all sides.  When she reached the top of the stairs she 
paused, took a deep breath, closed her eyes and pulled open the heavy wooden door. 

She walked forward a few steps and inhaled.  The church smelled like the cathedrals she remembered from a 
trip to France when she was in college.  The air smelled of incense and held the warm, waxy fragrance of 
melted candles.  Her eyes drifted open and she saw the church was only dimly lit, mostly by votive candles in 
red glass cups.  She took a deep breath, churches in the US never smelled this good.  Fire codes and 
insurance regulations forbid them from leaving unattended candles lit.  Talk about injecting the mundane into 
the holy, she thought.
           
She walked over to one of the saints' stations at the back of the church, fished two Canadian quarters out of 
her pocket, dropped them into the offering box, and picked up one of the thin, tapered balsa wood sticks.  
She hesitated.  Should she pray for something that so obviously involved her own happiness?  Somehow it 
seemed sacrilegious to ask God for favors after having ignored him, if not in thought then in actions, for 
years now.

She lit the thin, wooden wand, and closed her eyes as she touched the flame to the wick of an unlit candle.  
She felt warm breath on her neck and heard his voice, soft and husky.  "Who did you pray for Dana?" he 
asked, lightly splaying his hands over her hips.

She turned in his embrace, sliding her hands up his arms to his shoulders-  "You.  I was praying for you," 
she answered.

He looked at her with a curious expression, regarding her silently from several minutes, then with a low 
growl he pulled her against him and kissed her soundly.  "I'm not afraid anymore," he whispered against her 
lips.  He kissed her again, his tongue caressing the inside of her cheek, his breath spilling into her lungs.      

She pushed against his shoulders until there was enough room between them for her to open her hand, 
revealing the ring she was still clutching.  She looked up at him questioningly.  
"I won't be alone?"  he asked her.  

She shook her head smiling at him.  He took the ring from her and dropped his hands to his sides.
"Tonight? Now?" he asked.

"I know we're in a church but, but we can't..." she sputtered.

"Shhh," he placed a finger over her lips. "Didn't you promise to open yourself to extreme possibilities 
Dana?" he questioned.  

"Yes, but it's the middle of the-"

"Don't you think the witching hour is an appropriate time?"

"Well, I suppose midnight does have a certain-"

"Dana," he interrupted again, "you are not supposed to be analyzing this."

"I know I just don't want you to feel you have to do this," she said, looking into his eyes for signs of 
hesitation.  To her surprise he chuckled.

"Dana, have you wondered why we are here in this church?" he asked, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She was silent, waiting for his explanation.

"Look up," he commanded in a whisper.   

Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling and she saw that there were several small wooden ships hanging from 
ceiling on black metal chains.  Each ship was lit by two small oil lamps on its' deck.  

"Interesting light fixtures?" she questioned.

He smiled and pulled her back into his arms and nodded at the ceiling.  "Those ships are for sailors lost at 
sea.  It was thought their souls, too might remain lost if they couldn't find their way home.  So the ships 
where hung to provide a light to guide their way back to shore, back home to put them at peace."

She bent into his embrace, sliding her arms around him beneath the warmth of his leather jacket.  He leaned 
down and began trailing kisses across her cheekbone, repeating the pattern his thumb had made.  
"You brought me to shore," he murmured, tracing the whorls of her ear with his tongue.

"Mul-der, we're in a church!" she admonished as he turned his attention to her neck.

"That we are." 

He pointed to a doorway off to the left of the alter.  

She looked at him for an explanation but he offered none.  She walked up the side aisle to the doorway and 
walked into the small wood paneled room-   Dana looked around and after several minutes she realized she 
was in a small museum dedicated to a nun who migrated from France as a missionary and was later elevated 
to sainthood.  Suddenly she noticed a chair in the corner with a garment bag draped over it, on the floor 
around it were several boxes. 
She kneeled down and opened one of the boxes, inside was a floral hair wreath of creme colored roses and 
forget-me-nots.  The next box contained ivory satin shoes, beneath them was piece of paper rolled with a 
blue ribbon she immediately pulled off.  Unrolling it as she read, she almost choked as she realized what it 
was.  It was a marriage certificate.  Oh my god, she thought, he was serious, completely and utterly serious.

She quickly opened the rest of the boxes and found a bridal bouquet of the same creme-colored roses in the 
hair wreath, pale gold satin lingerie, a pair of pearl button and citrine earrings, a blue garter and strangely 
enough an Elvis stamp.  It took her several minutes to realize the Elvis stamp was the -something borrowed' 
part of something borrowed, something new, old, and blue.  She unzipped the garment and was stunned, 
inside was an antique, floor length, slip dress with a lace overlay.  The dress was ivory silk with seed pearls 
sewn into the hem.  

She startled as she felt tears running down her cheeks, she hadn't been aware that she had been crying.  He 
means to do this, she thought, he's willing to take the chance for me, for us.  
She looked at her watch it was 11:45pm.  Shit, she thought, fifteen minutes to get ready for my own 
wedding and I've been crying.  

She started to change, stuffing the clothes she stripped off into the now empty garment bag. 

She realized she should probably think about this more, that she should consider all the ramifications of what 
they were about to do but she found her self strangely apathetic about the future.  She had never thought 
about being Fox Mulder's wife, only his lover, and she was too tired of intrigues, plots and second guessing 
her life to consider all the possible repercussions she might experience from the Bureau, her family and... 
other sources.  For once in her life she wanted to do something spontaneous because she was happy, not 
because she felt hollow and burning inside.  Look what that had given her, bad relationships, a tattoo, and on 
several occasions a terrible hangover.      

She placed the wreath on top of her head and pushed several bobby pins into her hair to anchor it into place.  
She regarded the last bobby pin curiously.  She was shocked it even occurred to  Mulder to include them.  
She was sure the former men in her life wouldn't know what a hair pin even was.  But that was Mulder, she 
thought, grinning to herself, always knowing bizarre details from the complete cargo manifest of the Mary 
Celeste on her last voyage to a woman's need for bobby pins.  

Clipping the earrings on and slipping into the shoes, she was completely dressed.  She picked up the 
bouquet, took a deep breath and feeling like she was stepping off the side of ship, she walked back into the 
church crossing to the alter.

A half dozen elaborate wrought iron candle stands as tall as Mulder provided the only light besides oil lamps 
in the tiny ships.   Each stand held several candles making the alter look as though it was glowing, pulsating.  
Mulder, dressed all in black, stood silently next to a robed priest, with a slight grin creeping up on his face as 
he noted her shell-shocked look.  

There were bells strangely chiming out the midnight hour.  Probably waking the entire neighborhood, Dana 
thought.  The church now had a heavier scent of sandlewood leaving her feeling sleepy and pleasantly 
drugged.  

He stepped forward to take her hand and nodded to the priest.  She knew, on some level that the priest was 
speaking but she didn't hear anything-  She simply stared at Mulder the whole time, feeling like she was 
caught in a bubble.  
The bubble popped when Mulder raised her hand and fished the ring out of his pocket.  The priest was 
droning soothingly in French.  Probably  a version of -with this ring' she reasoned, but Mulder had his own 
ideas.

In her flat shoes she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes.  He still held her free hand.  He slid the ring 
onto her hand and asked, "Call home the heart you gave me?".  
When she said, "I will" he brought her hand up to his lips and brushed it with a light kiss.

Realizing suddenly that she didn't have a ring for him, she pulled a sprig of the small blue flowers out of her 
headpiece and wrapped it around his ring finger, asking, "Forget-me-not?".  "I promise," he answered, 
before leaning down to kiss her, "I promise."

****

After leaving the church they walked down to the river.

"You're not sorry we -eloped'?"  He was watching the citrine stones in her earrings, in the dark with only 
the street lamps to illuminate them, the stones looked like clusters of stars, miniature Pleiades, clustered 
around her ears.

"No, I'm not but I think Sam may kill you," she answered.

"Naaa, after she says -I told you so' about twenty times she'll feel better.  But what about your mom?" he 
asked.

"Well, Mulder, she loves you but I don't know that she be all that happy we got married," she told him 
truthfully.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly prime husband material, am I?" he commented as they began to walk toward the end 
of the long pier.

"No, it's not you.  She was just always hoping I'd marry a CPA, patent attorney or a quiet Georgetown 
professor with tenure.  You know, someone to tame down the wildness the FBI injected into me."

He laughed, "Well, I afraid that's one thing I can't promise to do.  Correction, definitely won't do.  I like 
you undomesticated Scully."

She ignored his sense of humor as usual.  Why change anything just because they were husband and wife?

"Are you sorry you didn't get to cut the cake, have a first dance, and throw the bouquet to find out who's 
about to find a soulmate next and all that?" he asked, needing to be reassured he hadn't violated a girlhood 
idea of a perfect wedding.

"No, I-" she stopped abruptly.  Pausing for a moment she looked down at the roses she was holding.  Who 
would she have thrown the bouquet to?   Letting go of his hand, she ran to the end of the dock and threw 
the flowers out into the black, inky midnight waters.  

She watched the roses arc out over the river, the ribbons streaming behind, a comet tail in the wind.  
"Catch it, catch it," she whispered, as it splashed into the water.   

He caught up to her, wrapped her in his arms and looked at her for an explanation.

She whispered, pressing her cheek against his chest over his heart and feeling his pulse beneath her lips, "It 
was for the souls, the lost souls who took a chance but never made it back to shore, who never found a 
home."   


END
  

    


   
           

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