Title:  A Brave New World - Humility
Author:  Vickie Moseley
Summary:  post IWTB, our two favorite agents are 
entering a brave new world.  Will they be able to 
meet it?
Category:  MSR, MA, SA, Skinner friendship
Rating:  there is a racy section but nothing that has 
been shown on network TV
Disclaimer:  Chris, overall, I give you props, but 
there were several places I have to differ.  This is 
my humble attempt to correct some misconceptions.
Archive:  yes
Dedication:  To Sarah, who gave me the inspiration.  
To Chris, who prodded me to post it.  To Dawn 
who, even when she's not there, is always there.  To 
my ET -- even though you've moved to different 
playgrounds, we're still tight.  And to all (Lisa, 
Tash, Maureen, and all the Refugees) who have 
fought to keep the dream alive.
Author's note:  This is the beginning of a series.  
The first part is long and will be posted in four 
parts.  I'll be posting new portions as they come to 
me (yes, I have a sequel already planned for this 
one).  Feedback causes my muse to kick me in the 
behind and write more -- do what you want with 
that information.
Feedback:  vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

A Brave New World - Humility
  
Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital
Four days after the kiss . . .

He was so bright eyed, the boy running along the 
beach.  His sun-kissed chestnut hair with honey 
gold highlights was whipped in the ocean breeze, 
his bare feet splashed in the frothy water.  His skin 
was a deep bronze from a full summer in the sun.  
His smile was as infectious as it was precocious.  
He laughed freely, casting a glance over his 
shoulder at the figure running after him in the tide.

Her eyes couldn't make out the taller figure at first 
until the glare of the sun shifted and she saw it was 
Mulder.  He looked so young, laughing and 
splashing, his pant legs rolled up to the knees but 
the fabric was still stained dark from the surf.  
There was a glint in his eyes as he chased after the 
boy -- a childlike exuberance that had been missing 
in the last years of their life together.  She felt 
herself smile as she watched him go after the boy, 
both of them obviously enjoying their game.  

And as she watched, an enormous wave appeared 
on the horizon, taller than any of the ships her father 
had ever sailed.  It was coming to shore with a 
speed known only to hurricanes and tsunamis.  She 
cried out, screamed Mulder's name but the sound of 
the surf was too loud and he couldn't hear her.  She 
started to run down to the shore to warn them but 
something was holding her back -- shaking her --

She awoke with a start.  The shaking continued and 
she realized someone was shaking her shoulder to 
try and awaken her.

"Doctor Scully, please, you have to get to ICU," a 
voice said frantically as Scully tried to clear the 
sleep from her eyes.  She looked around and found 
that she was in the chapel, her rosary beads twisted 
in her hands.  When she looked up, the face of the 
pediatric head nurse, Sister Elisabeth, looked down 
on her with worry.  "Please, Doctor Scully, you 
must wake up.  It's Christian!" the nun said 
desperately.

Instantly alert, Scully composed herself and stood, 
hurrying toward the door to the hallway, half 
listening to the usually quiet nun prattling along 
behind her.

"We searched the on call room and the lounge.  We 
called your cell phone but Sister Theresa found it 
ringing in the pocket of your lab coat on the back of 
your office door.  Then Father Harrigan mentioned 
you might have gone to the chapel and when we 
first looked we couldn't find you but then I decided 
to check the pews and found you asleep . . . "

"I, uh, I thought I had my pager with me," Scully 
tossed over her shoulder as she hit the stairs, not 
even considering the elevator that tended to be 
slow.

"Yes, we found it on your desk in the charger.  It 
was Providence that led me to check the pews 
again.  We were ready to drive out to your house -- "

"No one answered the phone at home?" she asked, 
slightly perplexed. 

"No.  No answer and we tired several times but 
Jimmy in the garage said your car was still there so 
we stopped trying."

They had reached the pediatric hall and Scully 
turned toward the double doors leading to the PICU.  
When she burst through and into the patient room 
on the left she skidded to an abrupt halt.

The room was a shambles of equipment hurriedly 
moved aside.  A crash cart sat, recently used but no 
longer needed.  The still form on the bed was lying 
under a white sheet, face covered, the simple cotton 
now serving as a shroud.  The lone nurse trying to 
make sense of the carnage looked up.  It was Beth, a 
bright 26-year old not long out of nursing school.  
There were tears streaming down her face.

"His heart just gave out," she said meekly.  "Dr. 
Martin was on call.  He did everything he could."  
The young woman fought back a sob and drew in a 
deep breath.  "His parents are down with Father 
Ybarra right now."

Scully forced her feet to move her forward to the 
bed.  Gently she raised the sheet.  Christian's young 
face looked so peaceful, even with the angry scar 
still marring the right side of his head.  The last time 
she'd seen him, just hours before, his face was 
constricted in a terrible spasm of pain that she 
worked so hard to erase.  After seeming hours of 
effort, he'd finally fallen asleep and in her own 
exhaustion, she'd set out immediately to find 
strength in the chapel to continue their fight to save 
his life.  Obviously, it was too late.

Her throat closed and for a brief moment she 
thought she would be in need of the crash cart 
herself.  The room closed in on her and as she 
looked down at Christian, his hair lightened in 
color, took on a honey gold bronze and his face 
changed to that of the boy she'd seen in her dream.  
She blinked twice and though her eyes were now 
glazed with tears, the dark haired boy's face 
returned.  She could breathe again, but her chest 
was still terrifyingly tight.

"Doctor Scully, I'm sorry to disturb you but Father 
Ybarra is looking for you.  He's down in his office," 
Sister Elisabeth said from the doorway.  The older 
nun gave her a look of deep sympathy and then 
went back to her duties.

Mulder and Scully's house
8:45 pm

He pulled the rental into the drive, surprised to see 
her loaner car in her usual spot.  Mulder looked 
over at the small bag of groceries in the passenger's 
seat and wondered if half a sandwich would appease 
her appetite.  He knew she'd be close to running on 
empty and he was curious why she was even home.  
Maybe her patient was doing better.

He was tired and his head was pounding, but he felt 
good.  How long had it been since he could say that 
-- even to himself?  He'd accomplished something, 
he'd made a difference.  He'd interacted with other 
humans and the sky hadn't fallen.  He knew Scully 
had been worried about him.  Hell, he had to admit 
that he'd been worried, too.  Agoraphobia wasn't 
something he relished dealing with for the rest of 
his life, but how do you go out in public when 
you're still considered a wanted man?

So when Scully prodded him to get involved, when 
Agent Whitney told him 'all was forgiven' maybe at 
the time it had seemed to fly over his head but with 
reflection it was a turning point.  He was Mulder 
again.  Not some weird guy holed up in a little 
mountain retreat but a guy who went out and did 
things in his life.  He was alive again and he was 
pretty damned happy with that, even at his 
advanced age of 48.

He bounded up the steps and unlocked the door.  
Stomping the light dusting of snow off his boots, he 
called out.  "Hey, what's up, Doc?"  Silence 
answered him.

The light was on in the kitchen.  Shedding his coat 
at the door, he moved through the dining room and 
toward the back of the house.  What he found 
caused his breath to catch in his throat.

An empty vodka bottle was sitting in the middle of 
the table.  A plastic tumbler was overturned and a 
small amount of liquid was spilled on the surface.  
A red head rested on an outstretched arm, slumped 
over.  He put out his hand to shake her awake when 
he saw the small pill bottle clutched in her fingers.  
He felt her hand -- it was warm but she still didn't 
move.

His heart was in his throat as he picked up the 
medicine bottle.  Oh shit.  It was exactly what he 
was afraid it was.  His prescription for sleeping 
pills.  She'd brought it home last November when 
his nighttime prowling had kept her awake for too 
many nights in a row.  

Swallowing thickly on rising bile, he turned the cap 
and dumped the contents on the table.  His hands 
were shaking so badly he could barely get his 
fingers to move the small tablets into an orderly 
fashion.  Twenty . . . twenty-two . . . twenty-four . . 
. twenty-six . . .thank God!  Twenty-eight.  He 
double-checked the label to ensure his remembrance 
was correct.  The prescription had been for a two-
week supply of thirty and there were still twenty-
eight in the bottle.  He had taken the pills once just 
to get her off his back, which accounted for the 
missing two.  

So all he had to worry about was alcohol poisoning 
from ingesting 750 milliliters of 80-proof vodka.  
How much had been left in the bottle at New Years?

When she moaned and her head rolled off her arm 
to loudly make contact with the wood surface of the 
table, he startled.  What the hell was he doing, 
treating this like a crime scene?  

"Scully," he said, loud enough to wake her but 
hopefully not give her a heart attack.  "Scully, wake 
up.  Time to go to bed."

" . . . innaminte," she sighed and let out a little 
snore.

"No, now," he replied, pulling her into his arms and 
carrying her to their bedroom.  His mind was racing 
with questions, but one thing was obvious.  He 
wasn't going to get any answers from her -- not 
tonight at least.  

Halfway up the stairs to their room she roused 
enough to look at him.  "You shaved again," she 
slurred.  "Wanna show me your li'l something?" she 
whispered seductively.

"Maybe when you've slept a while," he smirked.  
Scully had always been a happy drunk.  It was 
usually the reason for the altered state that was the 
problem.  

"You have a boo-boo," she suddenly noticed, 
bringing her hand up to clumsily poke at the stitches 
on his forehead.  The patch of abused skin was still 
tender and he couldn't stop the wince her touch 
provoked.  She pouted at him.  "I can't touch you, 
Mulder.  I'll kill you.  I don't want you to die, too," 
she said, burying her head in his shoulder.  "They 
wouldn't let me touch you in the ambulance either.  
They knew . . . they knew I'm a killer.  Everything I 
touch dies or goes away," she trailed off as she sank 
back into drunken slumber.

Once next to the bed he pulled off her shoes and 
clothes, wrestled her near comatose body into her 
satin pajamas and tucked her into their bed.  He 
glanced at the alarm -- it was just 8 o'clock.  He'd 
been exhausted when he'd arrived home but now he 
was wired and worried.  Leaning over and kissing 
her tenderly, he made sure she was on her side in 
case she got sick to her stomach and quietly went 
back downstairs.

The sandwich he'd picked up at the deli counter of 
the grocery store was not at all appealing when he 
went back to unpack the meager provisions.  He 
tossed it in the refrigerator, along with the butter 
and eggs he'd purchased and the carton of that new 
yogurt she'd become addicted to.  He considered the 
stuff a biology experiment and placed it on the 
lowest shelf so it wouldn't invade anything he 
consumed.

Once he had the groceries put away, he looked back 
at the table.  His sleeping pills were still scattered 
on the tabletop.  With one sweep of his hand he 
collected them all and washed them down the 
kitchen sink.  He crushed the amber bottle before 
lobbing it in the trash compactor.  Picking up the 
empty tumbler, he saw a piece of paper lying under 
the bottle.  It was a printed out email.  That he 
might be invading her privacy never entered his 
mind.  Their shared flight and subsequent 
cohabitation had blurred a lot of lines that had 
previously been in bold black borders.

He scanned the message and the sender and his 
heart sank.  It was from the hospital administrator, 
Father Miguel Ybarra.  Scully was being notified 
that the hospital was holding an inquest into the 
death of Christian Fearon and her actions as his 
personal physician were being called into question.  
She was to appear before the hospital board in three 
days for testimony.

She'd never told him the name of her patient, but 
when he'd been trying to find her last week one of 
the nurses suggested he try the boy's room.  It didn't 
take an FBI agent to realize that this boy was the 
patient that had her so tied up in knots.  He was a 
good looking kid, even sleeping off a major surgery.

But the kid was dead now.  Mulder bit his lip.  That 
was what she was mumbling about.  She considered 
herself the boy's killer.  She used a radical treatment 
on a terminally ill child and the result had been his 
death.  The pieces of the puzzle were falling into 
place -- the empty vodka bottle, even the sleeping 
pills.  He knew Scully -- suicide was the farthest 
thing on her mind.  But as a reaction to crushing, 
soul-wrenching pain . . . he knew the feeling well.

The faint sound of coughing echoing through the 
small house got his attention.  He hurried up the 
steps but by the time he arrived, the damage was 
done.  She had vomited and was soaked to the skin, 
not to mention their bed was in ruins.  Sighing 
deeply, he cleaned her up, got the bedding changed 
and put her back in bed.  She didn't seem to know 
what was going on and fell back to sleep almost 
immediately.  Once he had started the soiled sheets 
and blankets in the washing machine, he dragged 
himself up the steps one more time and set about 
keeping watch over her.  He sat on the bed, his back 
against the headboard and reached over to lightly 
stroke her hair.  It was a long night and he was far 
too worried to even think about sleep.

7:45 am

Mulder felt himself falling and managed to grab the 
edge of the nightstand before he landed on the floor.  
His back was killing him, his legs were a buzz with 
pins and needles.  Something had woken him.  He 
heard the shower going and rubbed his hand over 
his tired eyes, glancing at his watch and then the 
alarm clock.

At least she was finally awake.  It had been a long 
night.  She hadn't gotten sick again, but he didn't 
dare fall asleep in case she had.  His last conscious 
thought had been as the sky started to lighten, 
somewhere near 6 am.  He'd passed out for about 
two hours.  He was way too old for that all night 
shit.

The door to the bathroom opened and Scully 
emerged in a cloud of steam.  She tied the knot on 
her silk robe and stepped over to the dresser.

"Good morning," he said quietly, finally trusting 
that his legs would hold him, he rose to his feet.  
"Can I interest you in a large glass of orange juice 
and a four-aspirin chaser?"

She looked over at him.  "Where were you?  I came 
home and you were gone."  Her voice was accusing, 
her eyes showed her hurt.

He licked his lip.  He had been so anxious to share 
his day's adventures with her when he'd arrived 
home.  Now he wondered if it were the best time to 
tell her.

"I was out . . . for a while.  Let me get that juice," 
he said abruptly changing the subject.  "You get 
dressed.  Want some toast?"

"I'm not sick, Mulder," she growled.  "I don't need 
toast and I don't want juice."  She closed her eyes 
and leaned against the dresser, seeming to need its 
solid presence to keep on her feet.  "I could use a 
cup of coffee.  Strong."

"Coming up," he nodded, going downstairs to the 
kitchen.  

He busied himself with the coffee, then moved the 
now clean sheets over to the dryer.  She entered the 
kitchen and pulled down her favorite mug.  With 
shaking hands she filled it to the brim and took a 
sip.  "You could use a little more grounds next 
time."

"I didn't want it to get up and walk off, Scully.  I 
tend to like my coffee as a liquid, not a solid," he 
replied.  Her stare would have frightened a weaker 
man, but he was made of sterner stuff.  He sat down 
at the kitchen table and tapped his fingers on the 
surface nervously.  "So, want to tell me about what 
happened last night?"

He was talking to thin air.  She had already stalked 
out of the room.

"I saw the email," he said as he followed her.  She 
was sitting in the living room, staring out the front 
window.  "I'm sorry about Christian."

She pursed her lips and nodded.  

He sat down beside her.  "Scully, you did what you 
thought was . . ."

She jumped up, spilling coffee on the sofa and the 
rug.  "Don't say it, Mulder.  Don't you dare say it," 
she spat out.  

"Scully -- "

"Don't placate me, goddamn it!  I don't want your 
pity and I sure as hell don't want you to sit there and 
psychoanalyze me!  Just . . . just leave me alone, all 
right?  Just leave me the hell alone!"

She stomped up the stairs to their bedroom, 
slamming the door shut behind her.  He jerked when 
he heard her turn the skeleton key in the lock.  

"Good thing we have a spare bathroom," he 
muttered and slunk off to the front bedroom that 
he'd converted to his office when they'd first moved 
in.

His cell phone rang just as he sat down.  "One sorry 
son of a bitch speaking," he said bitterly.

"Mulder?  It's Skinner.  You were supposed to call 
me first thing this morning," his former boss 
intoned over the phone line.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Walt.  I was, uh, I didn't get 
much sleep last night.  I overslept."

"Well, I talked to Budget and to Contractual 
Resources.  I got the way cleared to hire you on 
contract but I've been told you need that concealed 
carry license.  Will there be any trouble getting it?"

"No, that's what I did yesterday.  It's pretty 
straightforward.  I filled out the paperwork right at 
the office.  I should hear back in two to three weeks, 
assuming my name is no longer on your ten most 
wanted."

"It never was, Mulder.  It was always a smoke 
screen.  You two have been hung out to dry for six 
years.  I'm sorry about that but you were safer 
where you were."

Mulder licked dry lips.  "Yeah.  I'm sure it would 
look that way from the outside," he said evenly.  
"So I'm not being blamed for Whitney's death?"

"She was killed in the line of duty by an alleged 
serial killer currently in custody.  You're 
responsible for his apprehension and arrest.  I won't 
say the Director wants to pin any medals on you but 
no one blames you for ASAC Whitney's death."

"Not even Drummy?" Mulder retorted.

"I can't speak for Agent Drummy, Mulder.  And if I 
were you, I wouldn't really concern myself with 
what he thinks, anyway.  He should have responded 
when Scully called the first time.  I've got OPR 
looking into his actions on your behalf, or lack 
thereof."

"Great.  My enemies list was getting too short," 
Mulder sighed. 

"Is Scully still at the hospital with her patient?" 
Skinner asked, wanting to find a safe subject.

Little did Skinner know that he was just walking 
into an adjacent minefield, Mulder thought.  "Uh, 
no.  She's home.  Sleeping."

"Well, tell her I said the offer is open for her as 
well.  I know she likes her new career as a doctor, 
but she made one hell of an investigator -- as you 
well know.  The Bureau would be happy to have 
you both on contract."

"Yeah, I'm sure it would get a paragraph in the next 
annual report," Mulder quipped.  "Look, Walt, I'm . 
. . uh, I need to get going.  I have some things to do 
to get my life back now that I'm officially 
'unwanted', so if there's nothing else . . . "

"No, I have nothing else.  Do you think we could 
get together for lunch tomorrow?   My treat -- 
Jimmy's.  About 11:30?  We can hash out some of 
the details."

"Sure," Mulder replied, thinking feverishly.  I might 
even be staying with you, he mused, if Scully 
doesn't unlock the damned bedroom door.  But that 
was definitely a subject he didn't want to discuss.   
"Thanks, Walter -- for everything."

"I'm happy to help, Mulder."

He put the phone back in his pocket.  Contractual 
consultant to the FBI.  Not at all what he thought 
he'd be doing when he considered rejoining the free 
world.  Walter had made the inquiry and Mulder 
had jumped at the chance.  There was a fairly good 
chance he would be able to make a decent living, 
not that they would need money now.  Their 
'emergency funds' had just about run out when 
Scully had gotten on with the hospital, but now the 
rest of his inheritance from his mother and father 
would be available and basically they were set for 
life.

So why did he feel like the world was ending?

He looked up when the door to the office opened.  
"Is this seat taken?" she asked meekly.  Her face 
was stained with dried tears but her eyes were clear.

"Not at all," he replied, patting his lap.  She hurried 
across the room to accept his invitation and 
wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'm . . . ah, I'm sorry I've been such a bitch," she 
murmured as she curled in his arms.

He stroked her back gently.  "I'd say you were the 
picture of restraint.  I would have trashed the living 
room furniture by now," he said quietly.

"We can't afford to replace it.  I don't have an 
income," she said, pulling back to look at him.

"On the contrary, Doc.  My funds are now 
available.  Quite a tidy sum, if my old man's banker 
is to be believed.  We have full access now."

She nodded.  "Good."

"Scully, I'm really sorry," he said sincerely.

"I know you are.  I am too, Mulder.  I am too."

"Can you talk about it?" he asked, almost afraid of 
her reaction.

She shrugged.  "I thought we were in the clear.  
Then night before last he had a reaction to the 
treatment.  He was in such incredible pain.  I finally 
got him through that part, he fell asleep and I . . . I 
went down to the chapel just to regroup.  I must 
have fallen asleep.  I woke up when Sister Elisabeth 
came looking for me.  When I got to his room -- he 
was already gone, his heart just . . . quit working.  I 
wasn't there.  His parents . . . his parents were with 
him, but I wasn't," she choked out.

"Scully, you were his doctor.  Yes, I know you 
think you should have been with him, but you had 
done everything you could," Mulder assured her.  

She chewed on her lip.  "Apparently, I did too 
much," she said.  "You saw the email.  Father 
Ybarra was upset with me for attempting the 
treatment.  I went against the board.  If my actions 
in any way led to that boy's death -- "

"Scully, stop this.  That's what an inquest is for, isn't 
it -- to determine what happened?  Don't buy 
trouble.  I know you only had that boy's best 
interests at heart."

"I heard you talking," she said, clearly changing the 
subject. 

"To Walt.  He, uh, he asked me if I would like a job 
as a consultant with the Bureau," Mulder said, 
chewing his lip.  "Contractual, of course."

Her smile was weak at best.  "That's what you want, 
isn't it?  To go back, to do it all again?"

"Not all of it, no.  I could use a few less ass-
kickings, if possible."  He pulled his bottom lip 
between his teeth for a second.  "Scully, I'd have to 
have a  concealed carry license to do the work.  It's 
the only way the state of Virginia will let me carry a 
back up gun."

"You'd have a gun again," she commented, standing 
and walking to the window.

"Yeah, but this time when I lose it, I'll have to go 
out and buy another one," he answered flippantly.  
"Are you . . . are you okay with me doing this?"

"It's your life, Mulder," she said with a shrug.

"I thought it was our life," he murmured.

She turned from the window, arms crossed.  Her 
face crumbled and she started to cry.  "I guess I was 
hoping . . . I mean, I thought that when it was 
finally over -- "

"Scully," he said, rising and going over to enfold 
her in his arms.  "I know you love being a doctor.  
You can still be a doctor."

"No, Mulder, I don't think I can," she said, her voice 
muffled in his shirt.  "I don't think they'll let me."  
She pushed against him and wiped her eyes.  "But 
you, you want this.  You've been lost here for too 
long.  You need this."

"We're still here, Scully.  I'm not leaving this house, 
I'm not going to leave you behind just so I can . . . 
can chase monsters in the dark."

She looked up at him and tried to smile, but her 
heart wasn't in it.  She brushed his cheek with her 
fingertips.  "I'm tired, Mulder.  I'm going back to 
bed."

"Want some company?" he asked hopefully.

"I think I need some time . . . alone," she said, her 
chin trembling.

He nodded in understanding and watched her as she 
closed the door on him again.


Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital
4:05 pm

"Father Ybarra, there's a gentleman out here to see 
you," Mrs. Chadwick, the administrative office's 
receptionist said with a puzzled look.

"Not another drug rep," the good Father sighed.  

"No, sir.  He says -- he says he's Dr. Scully's 
partner, whatever that means," Mrs. Chadwick 
replied with a half shrug.

"Dr. Scully?" Ybarra repeated.  He looked at the 
paperwork he was trying to complete and sighed.  
"Please send him in."

The tall man with a serious expression wasn't 
exactly what Ybarra was expecting, but then he 
really didn't know what he was expecting after all.  
Dana Scully had been one of the quietest physicians 
on staff -- until recently.  She'd come with excellent 
recommendations, had completed a residency 
program to bring her credentials up to standards and 
had performed her duties.  Her only downfall was 
that she got much too attached to her young 
patients.  Ybarra had assumed it was to make up for 
a lonely existence, but this man standing before him 
gave lie to that assumption.

"Father Mike Ybarra," he said, holding out his hand 
over the pile of papers on his desk.

"Fox Mulder," said the tall man, taking the offered 
hand in a firm grasp.

"Please, have a seat," Father said, pointing to one of 
the matched chairs facing him.  "So, Mr. Mulder... 
I wasn't aware that Dr. Scully was involved with 
anyone."

The other man didn't respond, simply stared down 
the priest.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Ybarra 
asked, feeling as if he were under a microscope.  
The man's piercing gaze was unnerving, to say the 
least.

"I'm curious why you would suspend one of your 
best physicians," Mulder said after a moment.

Ybarra nodded and sat back.  "I understand your 
concern for your . . . partner, Mr. Mulder.  But I 
really don't think it's my place to discuss this matter 
with you or anyone except Dr. Scully."

"I know about the patient, the young boy with 
Sandoff's.  I know she did everything in her power 
to save his life," Mulder said evenly.

"Yes, yes, she was very focused on finding a cure.  
Unfortunately, a cure for that particular disease is 
still outside our grasp.  The other doctors on staff 
knew this, the expert that Dr. Scully called in to 
consult told her as much.  If tenacity was all this job 
required, I dare say Dr. Scully would put this fine 
institution out of business in a week -- she would, 
quite frankly, cure anyone who walked through 
those doors."

"Yet instead of being here, treating patients, she's 
home, devastated that the job she loves is lost to 
her," Mulder said, sitting down in the chair and 
crossing his arms.  "That doesn't seem to match up."

"Since you seem intent to discuss this matter, may I 
ask you a question, Mr. Mulder?  How long have 
you and Dr. Scully . . . been together?"

Mulder looked away for a moment, and then stared 
back at Ybarra.  "Sixteen years," he said simply.

"Not married?"

Mulder blinked.  "We . . . no.  We're not married.  
We were partners in another line of work."

"I see.  Let me ask you something else, Mr. Mulder.  
Did that line of work include direct contact with 
patients?"

"I really don't see where this is going," Mulder 
huffed.  At Ybarra's continued scrutiny, he relented.  
"We were in law enforcement.  She was a forensic 
pathologist and an investigator.  She had very little 
contact with patients."

"Law enforcement," Ybarra repeated.  "There is 
very little gray in that line of work, am I correct?  A 
person either breaks the law or not."

"Basically," Mulder admitted.  "But our cases  . . . 
weren't always that simple."

"Ah, but you see, in a way it had to be.  If our laws 
where complicated, how would we know when we 
broke them," Ybarra insisted.  "Mr. Mulder, I will 
be blunt.  Dr. Scully is one of the best clinicians I 
have ever had the pleasure of supervising.  
However, she is one of the worst physicians I have 
ever met."  At Mulder's fierce look, he held up his 
hands to placate the other man.  "Hear me out."

Ybarra stood and looked out the window behind his 
desk.  "It's very hard for a doctor to distance herself, 
but it is necessary."  He turned back to look 
empathetically at Mulder.  "Dr. Scully . . . Dana, 
could not do that."

"Her professionalism has always been above 
reproach," Mulder objected.

"Yes -- with other staff members, it was.  But with 
patients . . . Mr. Mulder, she wore her heart on her 
sleeve.  Every case was a battle -- and she gave each 
one her all.  But at times that blinded her to the 
realities, to the limitations of our field.  I have no 
doubt that she's suffered greatly for this inability to 
keep her distance.  It was as if . . . as if every child 
she treated was her very own."

Mulder bit down on his bottom lip.  

Ybarra noted his expression and softened his tone.  
It was obvious he'd hit a very large and still 
inflamed nerve.  "When did you lose the child?" he 
asked quietly.

Mulder silently answered his question by closing 
his eyes.  "It's really none of your business."

Ybarra gave him a sad smile.  "Ah, but it is, Mr. 
Mulder, if it affects the ability of one of my 
physicians.  Dr. Scully, for all her attributes, does 
not belong here treating patients.  Maybe . . . maybe 
she could return to the line of work you were both 
in before?" 

Mulder shook his head.  "I don't think that's what 
she wants to do," he said sadly.

"Maybe this is just a chance for her to reconsider 
her options," Ybarra replied.  He looked down at the 
papers on his desk and shuffled a few.  "The 
autopsy is later today, the formal inquest is day after 
tomorrow.  The matter will be resolved at that 
time."

Mulder sighed and rose from his chair.  "Thank 
you," he said and left the priest to his work.

Mulder and Scully's house
6:15 pm

She smelled chicken.  It made her stomach roil, but 
it was possible that was just hunger.  She hadn't 
eaten anything all day.  

Scully pushed her body off the bed and shuffled to 
the door.  It surprised her for a moment when she 
couldn't open it.  Then she remembered locking it 
again -- locking Mulder out.

Why did she continue to do that, a little voice asked 
her?  Hadn't he earned her trust?  But this wasn't 
about trust, this was about pain.  Mulder had 
enough pain to blanket the house, she wasn't going 
to burden him with hers.  Even if he wanted her to, 
the voice argued?  She closed her eyes as she turned 
the key and prepared to see him.  

She knew what she'd find as she walked into the 
kitchen.  The table would be set, a red and white 
striped box of the Colonel's finest chicken -- extra 
crispy and honey barbeque mixed -- would adorn 
the center like a vase of fresh flowers.  He would 
have picked up mashed potatoes and green beans 
for the side dishes.  Iced tea would be poured in 
matching tumblers, a contradiction to the sub-zero 
wind howling outside the kitchen windows.

When she got to the kitchen, all was exactly as she 
had imagined it would be -- except he'd picked up 
corn instead of green beans.  Mulder, the one 
constant in her life who always managed to keep 
her just a little off-kilter.

"Hi," he said shyly, placing the fork and knife by 
the plate at her seat.  "Dinner's ready."

"I see you cooked," she teased, but it was almost too 
much to even speak.  She was so undeniably tired 
and it hurt so much just to even stand there in their 
yet to be updated kitchen.  Hadn't Mulder wanted to 
get a new stove about a year ago?

"Well, me and KFC.  I personally helped the 
Colonel strangle this one out back of the store," he 
quipped but she could see the apprehension in his 
eyes.  He was looking at her as if she held a gun on 
him.  Maybe she did, metaphorically.

"It looks good," she noted and pulled out her chair 
to sit.  As she caught his eyes she was relieved to 
see him relax just a little.

She took some of the potatoes and then poured half 
the gravy over them.  Comfort food.  She knew that 
if she peeked into the freezer there would be a quart 
of Baskin-Robbins mint chocolate chip waiting for 
the dinner dishes to be cleared away.  He was trying 
so hard to do everything right.  Why did it make her 
want to rip his head off?

She tamped down those thoughts and took a bite of 
her potatoes.  They tasted like mud.  She dropped 
her fork to the plate and sighed.  "I'm just not very 
hungry," she apologized.

He nodded, looking lost.  "I think I saw a can of 
soup up in the cupboard.  Chicken noodle.  If that 
sounds appealing?"

She shook her head.  Slowly, she got up and scraped 
her plate into the garbage, then loaded it in the 
dishwasher.  Silently she walked out of the kitchen 
and into the darkened living room.  She sat down on 
the sofa and pulled a large overstuffed pillow onto 
her lap.

Mulder watched her from the kitchen table.  
Without saying a word, he cleaned up his own plate 
and the remaining food, putting the leftovers in the 
refrigerator.  Then he followed her out into the 
living room, but didn't bother to turn on any lights.

She surprised herself when she started talking.  "I 
just thought . . . if I didn't give up . . . " her voice 
caught on the word and she swallowed the tears that 
threatened to fall.  "I didn't give up . . . " she 
repeated.  She couldn't stop the sob that broke from 
her throat and she folded over the pillow, clutching 
it to her stomach as if it were a life preserver.

She felt his arms around her, drawing her close.  A 
part of her wanted to resist, but that part had been 
dormant for so long that it was easily shoved aside 
by the larger part that yearned for his strong 
embrace.  She burrowed her head in his shoulder 
and allowed the tears to fall freely.  He stroked her 
back and head, and she let him because she needed 
him to do that, needed to feel him -- needed to feel.

"I want to feel alive, Mulder," she sobbed.  She 
turned her face up to his.  "Please.  Make me feel 
something other than dead."

He smiled down at her tenderly.  He shifted her in 
his arms and stood, carrying her up the steps and 
into their bedroom.

Setting her on her feet, he straightened the sheets 
and blankets from her nap, folding them over just as 
she liked them.  He then went about slowly 
unbuttoning her pajama top, the deep hunter green 
satin sliding off her pale shoulders.  He picked up 
the top and folded it, placing it on the dresser.  
Turning back to her, he hooked his fingers in the 
elastic waistband of the matching pants and tugged 
them over her hips and to the floor.  She stepped out 
them, one foot at a time.  He took the same care 
with the bottoms as he had with the top and placed 
it on the dresser.

She watched him as he moved back to her, taking 
her in his arms.  "You're still dressed," she told him.  

"Let me make you feel alive," he replied, his eyes 
hooded, his voice drifting over her as fog over a 
spring meadow.

He lowered her to the bed and starting at her lips, 
worshipped her as only a man who had known her 
for decades could.  He kissed her deep and hard, 
then tender and gentle, blessing her eyelids and her 
cheeks, her ears and her jaw and her neck.  When he 
moved down to press open mouth kisses to her 
breasts, her hands came up and tangled in his hair.  
All thoughts of the hospital, all thoughts of the boy 
and her inability to defeat a faceless nemesis flew 
from her mind.  All she knew was Mulder's mouth, 
his lips, his tongue, his hands on her body.  

He had always been a breast man -- she found that 
out on their first night together.  She did nothing to 
discourage the attention he paid to his particular 
fascination.  She moaned as his teeth grazed the 
sensitive nipple of her left breast while his fingers 
rolled her other nipple with just enough pressure to 
be on the edge of painful.  His mouth and his hands 
-- Mulder's two greatest assets -- north of his belt 
buckle, a tiny voice reminded her.  But even 
without taking off a stitch of his clothing and never 
venturing south of her navel he had taken her over 
the edge of sanity on more than one occasion.

Just when she thought that might be his intention, 
he started kissing his way down her ribs, circling 
her taut stomach as he always did.  She asked him 
once why he kissed her there.  His reply was to 
simply look at her, his eyes filled with longing and 
sadness.  She knew immediately that it was his way 
of remembering the child she'd once carried there.  
She'd never given him the opportunity to touch the 
tight skin stretched over her swollen womb.  He'd 
been so distant, so damaged upon his return that she 
didn't want to force him and likewise was almost 
afraid of the dark cloud that seemed to follow his 
every step.  Now, years later, she'd grown to regret 
not letting him touch their son through her skin.

The moment her thoughts turned maudlin, he 
shifted down and gently spread her legs.  She closed 
her eyes, not out of modesty but out of anticipation.  
Mulder did such things to her and she was never 
sure what was coming next from that incredible 
brain of his.  Where most men were sexy with the 
distinctly male parts of the physiology, Mulder was 
sexiest with his mind.  Not that she'd ever toss out 
any of his other attributes, of course.

This time it was fingers and mouth, tongue and 
nose, moving, sliding, flicking and licking her to the 
point of madness.  Her breasts missed his attention 
and she brought her hands up only to find that he'd 
anticipated her need and was already massaging the 
nipples, tweaking and pulling in rhythm to what his 
tongue was doing down below.  She was flying so 
high that when suddenly two fingers entered her 
core she almost launched off the bed.  He angled his 
hand so that his thumb was toying farther back and 
his mouth latched onto her clit and she was a rocket 
breaking free of earth's thin atmosphere, jumping 
off into space --

When she came back to herself, he had gathered her 
in his arms and was stroking her hair away from her 
face.  

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, but not enough.  I want you, Mulder.  Inside 
me.  Now," she ordered, not even recognizing her 
voice.

He smiled wryly at her.  "I think I can handle that," 
he said, struggling out of his jeans and sweater.  He 
kicked the clothing free, the denim sailing over the 
foot of the bed, followed quickly by the sweater.

"You are going to pick those up," she told him 
firmly, encircling his neck with her arms.

"Yes, ma'am -- first thing in the morning."

He was more than ready and she found herself 
craving him more with each passing second.  When 
he started to stroke her, she batted his hand and 
reached for his erection.  "What about 'now' didn't 
you understand?" she growled.

"The immediacy of the order was somewhat 
ambiguous," he groaned as he rolled on top of her 
and in one motion, entered her, sliding home.  She 
shifted, bringing her legs up and hooking them 
behind his back.

"Better?" she asked.

"The best," he assured her, tucking his chin so he 
could kiss her nose.  Her short torso and his much 
longer one prevented touching lips in their current 
position.  "Happy down there?  Want to switch? 
You on top?"

She shook her head in the negative.  "You drive," 
she directed.

"You'll hurt me if I say anything about 'Miss Daisy' 
at this point -- right?" he quipped and then squeaked 
when she pinched his butt cheek.  "That's what I 
thought."

He started out slowly withdrawing only to slide 
back into her but her heels pressing against his 
kidneys soon alerted him that she wasn't in a slow 
and steady mood.  In just a few strokes he was 
hammering into her, the bed springs protesting no 
more than they usually did.  

When he was close, so close that he was losing his 
ability to think, he realized she wasn't there yet.  He 
shifted to one arm and reached down between them, 
finding her thick curls and burrowing one finger to 
press her bundle of nerves.  She screamed and 
clutched his forearms, her clipped nails digging into 
his flesh.  With a roar of his own, he was gone.

They were sweating under the blankets, but she was 
afraid to move.  She didn't want to break the quiet 
of her heart, the stillness of her mind.  She gathered 
him into her arms, he snuggled onto his back and 
drew her over to rest her head on his shoulder.

"No thinking," he warned, punctuating his 
command with a jaw-cracking yawn.  "Just sleep."

"As you wish," she whispered, kissing his stubbled 
chin.  "I love you," she added.

"I love you, too," he murmured.

The predictable beating of his heart finally lulled 
her off into a peaceful slumber.

Rural Virginia
7:15 am

The wind was rattling against the storm window and 
when she reached over, she found she was alone.  A 
brief flashback to a very dark time in her life 
brought her instantly up and blinking around, trying 
to orient herself.  She recognized the room 
immediately.  Not Georgetown, not even Arlington.  
Rural Virginia.  Their house for almost six years.  A 
whiff of coffee and Mulder's aftershave wafted past 
her nose.  

She spied her pajamas on the dresser, just where 
he'd left them.  The jeans and sweater were also still 
on the floor, where he'd kicked them.  Shaking her 
head, she slipped into her robe and stooped to pick 
up the jeans.

"I was just coming to get those," he said from the 
doorway.  "Coffee?"

She nodded sleepily and took the mug from his 
hand.  He scooped up his discarded clothing and 
shot a near perfect lay up into the bathroom hamper.  
"He shoots, he scores!"

"I thought that was last night," she quipped.  She 
padded into the bathroom, taking care of business 
and then silently followed him down to the kitchen.

"What's your pleasure?  Eggs?  Waffles?" he asked, 
filling a clean mug with coffee since she'd 
appropriated his.

"Mulder, it's not Sunday," she told him.  "Cold 
cereal is fine."  She reached into the cupboard and 
pulled down a box of her favorite, Kashi cinnamon 
harvest.  He nudged her aside and retrieved his own 
box of Kelloggs Frosted Flakes along with two 
bowls.

"Get the milk," he nodded toward the refrigerator.  
She complied and he got the spoons.  This time 
when she put the food in her mouth, it actually 
tasted pretty good.  She finished that bowl and filled 
it again.  She caught him smiling into his mug but 
he didn't say a word.

"So, why are you up and dressed already?" she 
asked, eyeing him critically.  The deep cut on his 
forehead was healing -- she could take the stitches 
out if he'd stand still enough.  He'd shaved, so the 
scrapes weren't bothering him as much either.

"I . . . I wanted to talk to you about that.  I have a 
meeting -- in DC."

She raised an eyebrow, his signal to keep going.

"With Skinner.  About that possible consulting job."

Her stomach roiled again.  She picked up her empty 
bowl and mug and took them to the sink.  "I see."

"Scully, I'd just be a consultant.  And only when 
they needed someone with my . . . expertise."

"Monster boy?" she asked, hating how much his 
grimace pleased her.

"I did . . . manage this case all right," he said 
haltingly.

She pursed her lips and nodded.  "Assuming you 
completely ignore the wrecked car, the 9 stitches, 
the bruised ribs, the concussion . . ."

He sighed and closed his eyes.  After a moment he 
opened them and looked at her  "What do you want 
me to do?  If you want me to call Skinner and tell 
him the deal is off, I'll do that."

"You're a free man, Mulder.  You can do whatever 
you want," she told him, walking toward the stairs 
to their bedroom.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded 
angrily, trailing behind her.

"It means I can't tell you what to do."  She stepped 
into the bathroom and turned the taps on the 
shower.  When she reached for her toothbrush, he 
was leaning against the doorjamb, glaring at her.

"Oh, so that's the way it's going to be.  You get to 
be a doctor, you get to do what you want and I have 
to go along with it, but if I want to return to the real 
world, get some of my life back, I'm on my own?"

She untied the sash of her robe and let it slip from 
her shoulders.  "No, that's not what I mean," she 
said tiredly.  She stepped into the tub, adjusting the 
spray of the showerhead.  Letting the water hit her 
head, she squeezed shampoo into her palm and 
started washing her hair.

"Scully, I don't know what you want me to do.  Tell 
me what you expect of me?" he pleaded from the 
other side of the shower curtain.

She rinsed her hair and took her time washing the 
rest of her body.  When she turned off the taps and 
pushed the curtain aside, he was still standing there, 
glowering.

"I want you to be happy," she said quietly, drying 
off and then securing the towel around her.  "I want 
_us_ to be happy."

"Are you afraid I'll go off the deep end?" he asked 
as she encircled his waist with her damp arms and 
rested her head on his chest.

"I'm afraid -- I'm afraid that one of these times I'm 
going to be just a little late.  That one of these times 
I'll walk up to that barn and the axe will have 
already fallen and there will be nothing I can do.  
That's what I was afraid of the other night and it's 
what still scares me," she told him honestly.

"One, I was dumb to go out there without back up, 
but in my defense I was trying to call you when I 
got rammed by the snowplow," he said, holding up 
his index finger.

"Mulder, that is the weakest explanation you could 
possibly dream up," she told him, giving him a light 
shove and shaking her head.

"And two, I won't be doing this kind of work.  What 
Skinner is proposing is mostly reading files, making 
suggestions.  Desk work.  If, on the very rare 
occasion I might be in the field, I'd have tons of 
other agents there, too and I wouldn't be allowed to 
do squat."  He chewed on his lip.  "Look, the other 
day at the hospital I was pissed off because we'd 
had a fight and I took off on my own.  It was stupid 
and I'm sorry I scared you."

She sighed.  "I pushed you out," she admitted 
reluctantly.  "I could have been more supportive.  I 
knew you were on the hunt and all I did was show 
you the door."

He brought his hands up to cup her wet hair.  "You 
had other battles," he said, not wanting to remind 
her of the boy or her failed attempt to save him.

"I wish my battles were your battles," she said, 
leaning against his chest.

He kissed her head.  "I do too.  But that doesn't tell 
me what you want me to do."

She looked up at him.  "Go to DC.  Tell Skinner 
yes.  At least one of us will be gainfully employed."

"And you'll still be here when I get back?" he asked, 
his fear palatable in the chilly room.

"Always."  She leaned up to seal that promise with 
a kiss.

"Want to come with me?" he suggested.  "How long 
has it been since we had a road trip - just the two of 
us?"

"I really should -- " she started to say 'call the 
hospital' but she knew it was another day till the 
formal inquest.  Did she really want to stay here at 
the house by herself the whole day waiting for the 
phone to ring?  Maybe a road trip wasn't that bad of 
an idea.  "Just let me get dressed," she told him. 


Washington DC
10:30 am

She didn't realize how much she'd missed the place 
until they were crossing the Potomac.  The latest 
blanket of snow clung to the lampposts and 
monuments, glazing everything with a snowy beard 
and all she wanted to do was head down Wisconsin 
and see if her apartment was possibly available for 
rent.  Hell, if not her apartment, maybe Mulder's.  
As a last resort, they could always camp out on 
Skinner's living room floor until they found a place.

She drew in a breath to dispel such thoughts.  
Running had become too much a part of her, it was 
time for her to stand up and face her demons.

"We have some time," he said, his voice breaking 
into her thoughts.  "Want to take a walk?"

Her eyes met his and she smiled.  "Sure."

Deftly he navigated the tourists and workers and 
found a parking spot near the Jefferson Memorial.  
The cherry trees ringing the tidal basin were months 
from blooming and stood in silent dark attention.  
Even Jefferson looked cold in his marble fortress.

Taking her hand, he led her to the bench -- their 
bench.  It sat there waiting, as if no time had passed 
since the last time they'd sought comfort and solace 
in the quiet setting.  He dusted the seat of the bench 
with a bare hand.  She settled down next to him, 
taking his freezing fingers into the warmth of her 
woolen-covered palms to warm them.

"So, is this seat taken?" he teased.

"No, but I'll have to warn you, I'm in a pretty 
pensive mood."

He licked his lips and looked out at the frozen pond 
of the basin.  "I did something yesterday and I'm 
pretty sure you'll find out anyway, so I might as 
well confess and take my punishment."  

She looked over at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"I went to the hospital.  I talked to the administrator 
-- Father Ybarra."  

Even his most pitiful guilt-ridden look did nothing 
to damper her fury.  "Mulder -- how . . . how could 
you?" she sputtered, dropping his hands.

"Scully -- you scared the shit out of me!  I come 
home to find you passed out at the kitchen table -- 
_my_ prescription of sleeping pills in your hand -- "

She sighed and shook her head.  "I didn't take them.  
I was just . . . "  She couldn't even finish the 
thought.

"Look I've been there.  I've felt that kind of pain.  
But Scully . . . why turn that on me?  Why use me 
to . . . to end your pain?"

"I wasn't . . . I wasn't thinking clearly, Mulder.  I 
never considered . . . I didn't take them, OK?"  She 
stared out at the ice and frozen cherry trees.  "Is that 
why you went to see Ybarra?" she asked.

"Not directly.  I wanted to find out why you were 
suspended.  I found the email on the table after I put 
you to bed."

"What did you say to him, Mulder?" she asked, 
trying to keep her anger in check.

"I just wanted to find out . . . why they sent you 
home."

"What did he say?"

Mulder looked down at his hands, still cold.  "He 
said . . . he said you were one of the finest clinicians 
he's ever supervised."

Scully looked over at him.  "He said that?"

Mulder nodded.  "But he said you have a problem -- "

"I get too attached," she said woodenly.

They were silent for a long time until Mulder finally 
turned to her.  "Scully, why did you go into 
pathology in the first place?"

"You're asking if it's always been a problem, my 
inability to distance myself?"  He said nothing, gave 
nothing away.  She tilted her head.  "It was 
mentioned -- during a few of my rotations.  But it 
wasn't why I chose pathology.  I liked doing 
autopsies, I liked finding the clues hidden in the 
body.  I liked . . . I liked the hunt."  She looked over 
at him.  "Makes me a bit of a hypocrite, doesn't it?"

"How so?" he whispered.

"I tell you that I don't like what your quest did to 
you, to us and then that's exactly what drew me to 
my field of work.  The hunt, the chase."

"I don't remember having to call for back up to get 
you out of an autopsy bay," he admitted with a self-
deprecating grin.

"No, you never did, but I could be just as 
obsessive," she said, looking away.  "It wasn't 
dangerous when I did it."

He reached over and took her hand.  "We're a pair, 
aren't we?" he asked.

She nodded, clasping her other hand over his.  "I 
don't know what I want to do, Mulder.  It scares me.  
I thought . . . I thought medicine, being a doctor -- "

"Scully," he sighed.  "I know it's what you wanted 
six years ago when our choices were so few, but if 
you could go back -- "

She shook her head.  "No.  Not all the way back.  I 
don't want that, Mulder.  I . . . I had more than my 
fill of middle of the night autopsies and tearing 
across the country.  I meant what I said -- I don't 
want that again."  She pulled their hands over to her 
lap.  "But if you . . . want part of that life back -- "  
She closed her eyes and felt the tears pricking at her 
lids.  "If you want that life back I can't stop you.  
And regardless of what I said, I will be there, at 
home, waiting.  I'll keep the darkness out if you 
keep coming back to me."

He let go of her hand only to pull her into his arms.  
"I will always and forever come back to you -- you 
should have figured that out by now," he said with a 
slight chuff of a laugh.

They sat there, warm in each other's embrace, for a 
long time.  Finally, she pushed out of his arms just 
to look at his face.  "When are you supposed to 
meet Skinner?"

"He said to meet him for lunch at Jimmy's, 11:30," 
he told her, wiping the tears from her cheeks before 
they had a chance to freeze.

"We'll never find parking on C Street at this time of 
day," she warned.  

"So we walk a little.  Not like we don't know the 
city," he smiled at her.

She stood and held out her hand to help him up.  
"Still, we better get going.  Wouldn't want to have 
to wait in line too long."

Jimmy's Deli
C Street between 2nd and 3rd SE
Washington DC
11:35 am

It was snowing lightly as they stepped in from the 
cold.  Scully stamped her feet and looked around 
the small dining room, finding Walter almost 
immediately.  He had a pleasantly surprised look on 
his face as they approached the table, pulling off 
hats and gloves.

"Dana!  I'm so happy you could make it," he smiled 
and reached out to give her a welcoming hug.  He 
shook hands with Mulder before waving them into 
seats.  "I took the liberty of ordering, but I can get 
back in line."

"No, that's fine.  I'll just share with Mulder," she 
assured him.

"Best pastrami sandwiches in the city -- get your 
own, girlfriend," Mulder teased, but winked over at 
Skinner.  "I might let you have my pickle -- well, 
half of it, maybe."  He took the paper cup Skinner 
handed him and looked down at her.  "Diet?"

"Just get me a small cup of water," she said with a 
shake of her head.  "You can get regular if you 
want."  He headed off to the self-serve drink 
machine and Scully slipped off her coat.  

"Do you want me to hang that up?" Skinner asked.  
He seemed to be ready to jump out of his skin to be 
the perfect host.  Scully had to hold back a laugh at 
his actions.  

"No, thanks, Walter.  It's fine on the back of the 
chair," she said with a smile.

"I didn't expect to see you," he said, licking his lips.  
"To be perfectly honest, I half expected you to 
come to DC and kick my ass for even suggesting 
Mulder get back in the game."

"The ass kicking did cross my mind," she replied, 
her expression turning grim.  "Consulting?"

"Scully -- he's still the best.  I spoke with at least 
half a dozen agents working on the Bannon case 
and all of them had nothing but praise for him."  
Skinner toyed with the paper from his straw.  "If I 
could, I'd lure him back to Quanitco to teach, but I 
know I'd have an easier time walking across the 
Potomac."

"He doesn't want to teach.  I tried to get him to 
consider teaching online courses, but he wanted 
nothing do to with it," she agreed with a sigh.  "He's 
been working on a book -- fiction.  In five years, I 
think he's about as far as making an outline."

Skinner nodded.  "So, are you OK with this?  He 
won't be happy if you're not happy."

Scully smirked at that.  "Oh, I don't know why it 
would stop him now," she said, idly toying with and 
then taking a bite of the pickle on Mulder's plate.

"What's stopping me?" asked the object of 
discussion as he handed her a cup of water with a 
slice of lemon.  He settled into his seat and glared 
down at his half eaten pickle.  "Here.  Don't say I 
never did nuthin' fer ya," he drawled, handing the 
remaining portion to her.

"Whether I'm happy with this new venture, 
Mulder," she said, taking the pickle and chewing off 
another good-sized bite.  "Walter was just saying 
that if I'm not happy, you won't be happy either."

"Listen to the man, Scully," Mulder told her.  "He's 
right."

She sighed and looked away.  Skinner shifted 
uncomfortably in his seat and rubbed his nose.  
Mulder played with the straw to his drink and 
forced a smile.  "How 'bout them Colts?" he asked 
no one in particular.

"Skinner!" called the man behind the counter and 
Walter jumped up so fast he almost toppled his 
chair.  "I'll get that," he said unnecessarily and 
hurried over to retrieve the order.

"Scully, you're being a wet blanket at our beach 
party," Mulder teased and touched the back of her 
hand.

She drew in a deep breath and met his eyes.  "I 
know.  And honestly, I don't want to be.  I just -- "

"Just what?  Don't want me to work?  I'm 47, 
Scully.  My days as a sex slave are numbered," he 
whispered.

She rolled her eyes but a smile tugged at her face.  
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," she whispered in 
return.  She leaned back and watched their old boss 
take his time getting napkins and condiments.  He 
was obviously afraid to come back to the table.  "Do 
we have to decide everything right now?  Can't we 
think about this for a little while?"

Mulder shrugged.  "Sure.  I mean, I just got my life 
back, I just got the ability to be seen in public again.  
We don't have to do anything today."  He fiddled 
with his straw some more.  "If course, it would be 
nice to get started -- "

She stuck her tongue in her cheek to keep from 
yelling at him.  Mulder on the quest, a dog with a 
bone -- she really couldn't see a whit of difference.  
But a tiny voice inside her pleaded for caution.  She 
did not want a replay of their argument in the 
hospital locker room and later in the hallway.  She 
wasn't going to revisit that one again.

Walter finally had nowhere else to go but to come 
back to the tense silence at the table.  "Uh, I got the 
hot mustard on the sandwich," he said meekly, 
pulling out his chair and sitting down.

"That's fine," Scully answered for them both and 
pulled the sandwich over, tearing the wax paper in 
half and putting half the sandwich on it.  She placed 
that half in front of her and slid the plastic basket 
containing the remainder of the sandwich at Mulder.  
She took two napkins from the stack Walter had 
brought to the table and handed one to Mulder, then 
picked up her sandwich and nibbled at the crust.

Mulder looked over at her and then down at his 
sandwich.  He glanced up at Skinner to see the 
forlorn look on his old friend's face.  "Eat, drink and 
be merry, for tomorrow -- ouch!" he yelped as 
Scully's shoe made forceful contact with his shin.  
"Sorry, wrong quote," he mumbled and finally got 
down to the business of eating.

Scully ended up eating only half of her half, placing 
the remaining portion in front of Mulder before 
wiping her mouth on her napkin and folding her 
hands on top of the table.  "Walter, what kind of 
cases would Mulder be consulting on?" she asked in 
her best interrogator's voice.

Skinner dropped his eyes and tried not to look like a 
rabbit caught in the crosshairs of a shotgun.  "Um, 
well, cases similar in nature to this recent missing 
person's case," he said, coughing slightly.  "Maybe 
some of the cases we're sent from LEAs that have a 
particular -- "

"X files cases," Scully said dryly with a nod.

"There isn't an 'X files' division anymore.  Since 
John Doggett was fired and Monica quit in protest -- "

"They're in New York, I know," Scully interjected.  
"We get a card at Christmas and I'm sure it's 
Monica who sends me flowers on William's 
birthday but they're always anonymous."

"Yes, Doggett is a Captain with the NYPD and 
Monica is working with troubled youth.  But since 
their departure no one has worked these cases.  
They've been gathering dust -- just as they were 
when you found them originally," he said, turning 
to Mulder.

Mulder sighed.  "He was fired because of me," he 
murmured.  He looked away but felt her hand as it 
covered his.  Turning his palm over he squeezed it.  
"Remind me to send him a thank you," he told her 
and she smiled and nodded.  

"But we still get cases," Walter said, turning back to 
the original subject.

"Why not just assign full time agents?" Scully 
asked.

Skinner hesitated.  "It's not considered -- "

"It's the same old same old, Scully.  Not worth the 
manpower.  Agent Whitney as much as told me 
she'd been nosing around in them and look where 
that got her," Mulder said, folding his arms.

"Dead," Scully responded, and neither man would 
meet her gaze.

"Yes," Skinner said after a moment.  "But she 
wasn't experienced in the area, she'd basically been 
reading -- not really working any of the cases."

"If Mulder's only consulting, there has to be a 
supervisory agent," Scully reasoned.

Walter took a sip of his coffee.  "Yes.  Supervisory 
Agent In Charge Fossa.  She was Agent Whitney's 
direct supervisory."

"The blonde?" Mulder asked, sitting back to absorb 
this information.

"The woman who refused my call for help and I had 
to go over her head to get to you?" Scully seconded.

"That would be the one," Skinner admitted.  "I've 
had a few words with her on the subject.  In 
addition to Agent Drummy receiving a reprimand in 
his jacket, SAC Fossa has one to match.  But you 
should know that they will be in charge of all 
investigations."

"Well, that makes me feel so much better," Scully 
said bitterly and wadded up her napkin to toss it in 
the now empty basket in front of Mulder.

Mulder sighed.  "Scully has a point," he said with a 
shrug.  "Contrary to popular belief, I don't have a 
death wish.  If I do this and I did end up out in the 
field, I would expect back up or at least the cavalry 
to arrive in a timely manner."

"I know, believe me, I know.  And for the record, I 
tried to get it all back under my control."  He 
sighed.  "To be honest, I don't know how much 
direct help I can be.  I'm being considered for 
Deputy Director and making waves right now . . . "  
He bit his lip.  "I want to help.  I know you are the 
best man for this job," he concluded fiercely.

"We -- I want to think about it for a day or two, if 
you don't mind, Walt," Mulder said quietly.

"Sure, of course," Skinner said, trying hard to sound 
casual.  He glanced at the clock on the wall.  "I have 
a meeting in the Director's office -- I really need to 
get back.  But take some time, think it over.  I'll call 
you in a couple of days, if that's all right?"

"Sure," Mulder said.  

Skinner stood and Mulder and Scully rose to join 
him.  Scully stepped around Mulder and gave their 
old boss, and her friend, a hug.  "It was good to see 
you again," he murmured.

"You too.  You should come out some time.  The 
woods around the farmhouse are beautiful in the 
spring," Scully told him, giving his hand a squeeze.

He smiled and turned to Mulder, taking his friend's 
hand in a firm grasp.  "You have a lot of options 
available to you.  This is just one.  Think it over, do 
what you think is best for you."

Mulder smiled fondly.  "Was that an order or just 
friendly advice?" he teased.

Skinner smiled back.  "Friendly advice.  It's obvious 
that I don't give orders to you anymore," he said, 
tilting his head toward the woman beside them.  

Scully gave his comment an indelicate snort but 
Mulder nodded in agreement.  

"Take care, I'll be in touch," Skinner said.  Then he 
was out the door.

They sat there for a few moments while Mulder 
sipped idly at his drink.  "Well, I think that went as 
well as could be expected," he said, crumbling his 
napkin and stacking the garbage to be thrown away.

She frowned at him.  "What's that supposed to 
mean?"

He shook his head.  "Nothing.  C'mon.  Let's blow 
this pop stand."

The walk to the car was colder after being in the 
warm deli.  Mulder hunched his shoulders against 
the wind and reached his arm around Scully's waist, 
pulling her closer to him.

"I'm fine," she objected, but didn't pull away.  

"Sure you are.  You always are," he replied with a 
mischievous glint to his eyes.  She tilted her head 
up to meet his gaze and then snuggled closer into 
his side.

He unlocked the passenger side and let her in before 
hurrying around and getting into the driver's seat.  It 
wasn't until he had steered the car out into traffic 
that she spoke again.

"I want you to be happy," she told him, her voice 
trembling.

"I am happy," he replied firmly.

"You can't be happy, Mulder.  I saw you during this 
case.  You were -- you were excited, you were 
animated -- "

"I'm not animated at home?" he challenged.  "I 
thought I was pretty animated last night," he huffed 
under his breath.

"That's not what I mean," she retorted.  "And really, 
it's pretty much a moot point.  I -- until my own 
situation is resolved -- I shouldn't stand in your 
way."

He snorted.  "You really don't get it," he said 
shaking his head.  She turned toward him and raised 
an eyebrow so he continued.  "This isn't about me.  
This isn't even about you.  This is about us, Scully.  
Once, a long time ago you told me you were 
fighting for us when you believed I was giving up.  
Well, I now know how you felt.  Running was fine, 
we could do that together.  Now we have to figure 
out how to really live together with all the 
complications that brings."  He took his eyes off the 
road when they reached a red light.  "Father Joe said 
it.  Don't give up."

She bit her lip.  "I keep not giving up, Mulder and 
all it gets me is more heartache."  She turned her 
head so she was watching the slow going 
Washington traffic.  "If I lost you -- to the darkness, 
to death, to another quest that I couldn't follow -- 
that would kill me."

"So you feel better pushing me away -- losing me to 
your own self-interest," he said not unkindly.  She 
didn't turn back but in profile, he could see a tear 
slide down her cheek.

When her hand reached out he clasped it 
immediately.  She squeezed his fingers tightly.   "I 
don't want to lose you at all.  I'm sorry I said those 
things, I'm sorry I keep pushing you away.  That's 
not what I want and you have to know that.  It's just 
that -- Mulder, truthfully, I'm as lost as you are right 
now.  I don't know what do to.  You say you're 
happy at home but I know you aren't -- sitting in 
that little room, tossing pencils at the ceiling.  Well, 
I'm not entirely happy at the hospital, either.  I get . 
. . I get so caught up in the lives I'm dealing with 
and each defeat just tears at my heart.  Did you 
know that Christian's mother is just 24 years old?  
His father is 25?  They were children when they had 
him and they stayed together and they raised him 
and now he's gone and what do they have?"  She 
was crying hard now and it was difficult to get out 
the words.

He brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles.  
"Maybe they have what we have," Mulder 
answered.  "Each other."

She swallowed and gave him a small nod of the 
head.

"I saw you, too, Scully," he said after a moment's 
silence.  "I heard the message you left on my voice 
mail.  You were excited, you were 'animated' about 
this case.  And when you found that girl -- "

"Mulder, that girl would have died if someone 
hadn't acted immediately," she interjected.

"My point exactly!  Who would have saved her life?  
Me?  Skinner?  Agent Drummy?  Let's say you 
called out the troops but didn't get in the car, let's 
say you stayed at the hospital.  Cheryl Cunningham 
would be dead right now, Scully.  Skinner told me a 
little about her.  She's 34, she and her boyfriend are 
getting married in June.  She's an artist, a graphic 
artist.  You saved her life!  And mine," he added 
with a sly smile.

"So what are you saying, Mulder?" she asked 
quietly.

"Do this with me," he said all in a rush.  "We can 
consult together.  We can be choosy, we can cherry 
pick the cases we want to work.  Scully, we don't 
need money -- not any more.  I have access to my 
inheritance now, all the properties.  We wouldn't 
have to work another day, if we wanted to."  He 
looked out the windshield.  "I found out something, 
too.  I really don't want to do this without you.  I 
thought I could, when you gave me no other choice.  
I hoped I could.  But I can't."

"You did, Mulder.  You did it all without me."

"Scully, remember how you found me?  Two 
seconds from losing my head?"  He chuckled, but 
there was no humor in the sound.  "That's exactly 
what I was without you -- a chicken with my head 
cut off."

She snorted, but trembled slightly as a cold chill ran 
down her back from the memory of that shed and 
that axe blade so close to coming down on his neck.

"Without you, I go off and don't think and end up in 
trouble.  You know that, too."

She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the hand 
not holding tightly to his.  "I know," she admitted.  
"That's what scares me.  You needed me and I 
wasn't there."

"Do you think if we stand still for a minute we 
might catch this tail we keep chasing?" he teased.  

She huffed out a chuckle and looked at the passing 
streets.  "Mulder, where are we going?"

He smiled as he merged onto the B-W Parkway.  
"To see someone I haven't seen in a while -- and I 
think you need to see right now."

Maggie Scully's residence
Baltimore MD

After his knock, they saw the curtain next to the 
door part and then heard the deadbolt lock being 
turned.  Before either of them could say a word, 
Maggie Scully had taken them both in the house, 
hugging first her daughter and then Mulder fiercely 
before she could even close the door.  

"What are you both doing here?  Fox, what if 
someone saw you?" Maggie scolded as she peered 
out her door up and down the street, searching for 
panel trucks or snipers or whatever her nightmares 
had provided her most recently.  When she turned 
her attention back to her guests, she gasped in 
horror.  "Fox, what happened to your face?"  She 
reached up and gently touched the dark stitches just 
above his eye.

"It's nothing," he assured her.  "Car accident.  But 
I'm a free man, Mrs. Scully.  It's over.  I can come 
out in public now," Mulder assured her.  He took 
Scully's coat and his own and hung them on the coat 
tree next to the door.  

"Free?  I don't understand," she blustered.  "Now, 
wait, have you eaten?  I made a pot of soup 
yesterday and I froze it up but it won't take a second 
to reheat."

"Mom, we've had lunch," Scully objected.

"Soup?" Mulder piped in.  "That wouldn't be your 
famous potato soup by chance, would it?"

"As a matter of fact, it is Fox.  Come on back to the 
kitchen."  She hurried through the house as her two 
guests trailed behind.

"Mulder, you just ate," Scully chided.

"Three-quarters of a sandwich and no pickle," 
Mulder retorted.  "Besides, you know how much I 
love your mom's potato soup."

Maggie scurried around the kitchen, getting the 
soup out of the freezer, transferring it to a bowl and 
setting it in the microwave.  Glasses of ice water 
were placed before them and she produced a sleeve 
of crackers from the cabinet.  The microwave 
chimed and she placed the steaming bowl in front of 
Mulder, who happily dug in.

"Now, what is this all about?  What do you mean 
it's over?" she asked her daughter.

"Just what he said, Mom.  The Bureau dropped all 
charges against him.  He doesn't have to hide any 
more."

"Why would they do that?" Maggie blurted out and 
then realized how that sounded.  "I mean, they 
shouldn't have charged him with murder in the first 
place, I know that, but why are they dropping it 
now, after all this time?"

"They wanted my help," Mulder offered, between 
spoonfuls of soup.

"On a case," Scully added.  "An agent was missing 
and they needed Mulder's help to find her."  As 
always when dealing with her mother, Scully gave 
only the most abbreviated synopsis of the 
investigation.  "And in return for that help, they 
dropped all the charges.   He's even been 
approached about coming back to consult."

Mulder shot her a scornful look when she 
mentioned the offer of consulting, silently 
reminding her they hadn't really decided anything 
yet.

Maggie shook her head.  "This is a dream.  It has to 
be a dream.  You have no idea how long I've prayed 
for this happening -- that one day you'd come to me 
and tell me it was all a big mistake and it was over."  
She smiled broadly, but wiped at the corner of her 
eye.  "I'm so happy for you, Fox.  For both of you," 
she said, reaching out to squeeze her daughter's 
hand.  "Now you can get married!"

Mulder almost choked on his soup and Scully drew 
in a sharp breath.  "Mom, we, ah -- "

"Oh, not this very minute, of course.  A summer 
wedding would be beautiful.  And that would give 
Bill and Tara enough time to arrange for leave, so 
they can be here.  Charlie, too -- he might come 
home for that at least."

"Mom, we aren't -- I don't think we want -- "

"Dana, for crying out loud -- you've been living 
together for over six years, you had child together -- 
what are you waiting for?" Maggie huffed.

Mulder couldn't help but wince at the casual 
mention of their son, and when he looked over at 
his partner, he knew she had taken the blow much 
harder.  He had to cut off the attack before the 
damage was irreparable.

"We'll give it some thought, Mrs. Scully," Mulder 
interrupted and shook his head when Scully stared 
at him.

Unknowingly, he'd just marked himself a target.  
"Fox.  It's high time you started calling me 
Maggie," she scolded.  Taking his empty bowl, she 
put it in the sink.  For a terrible moment, it looked 
like she would take up the previous topic.  Mulder 
only hoped her daughter's bowed posture and bitten 
bottom lip would prevent that.  He sighed in relief 
when Maggie seemed to realize the minefield she 
was walking.  "I think I have a slice of pie in the 
refrigerator, if you're interested," she offered with 
forced cheer.

"No mas," Mulder pleaded holding his hands up in 
surrender.  "Thank you, but I think I'm ready to 
blow a gasket.  It was wonderful."

"Well, I can send some of that soup home with you 
-- if you put it in the trunk it shouldn't have a 
chance to thaw before you get home.  Unless you 
can stay the night?  Dana, I can make up the twin 
beds in your old room."

Mulder rolled his eyes and Scully simply put her 
hand over his on the table.  "We need to get back 
tonight, Mom.  Maybe next time.  Or maybe you 
can come out and visit us."

"That's another thing -- you could move back, now," 
Maggie suggested, sitting down across from 
Mulder.  "I mean, there's really no reason why you 
should have to live in the middle of nowhere 
anymore."

"Mom, I have a job.  I work at the hospital out 
there," Scully replied.

"But you could get a job at any of the hospitals 
around here, Dana.  Washington General, GUMC -- 
you know so many people over at Northeast 
Georgetown."

Mulder shuddered and Scully shot him a look that 
told him just how much she sympathized.  "I'm fine 
out there," she said quietly, not wanting to bring up 
the subject of her job or her level of satisfaction.

"Well, it's something to consider.  It would be so 
nice to have at least one of my kids close by.  It was 
about perfect when you were down in Georgetown -
- just a half an hour away."

Miraculously, Mulder steered the conversation to 
safer subjects, asking for an update on Bill's 
children and Maggie's activities with her church so 
the rest of the afternoon was spent in relative calm.  
When he noticed Scully checking her watch for the 
third time in less than fifteen minutes, he knew he'd 
have to take the initiative.

"Hey, don't we have to be getting on the road 
soon?" he asked and her immediate relief was 
almost a wave washing over him.

"Yes, yes, I have to be up early to be at the hospital 
in the morning," Scully said quickly. 

Maggie saw them to the door, smiling broadly as 
Mulder helped Scully on with her coat.  "Now call 
me when you get home -- I don't care how late.  
You know how I worry," she instructed Scully.  
Then she leaned up and kissed Mulder on the cheek.  
"I'm so happy to have this all behind us, Fox."

"Me too, Mrs. . . . Maggie," he replied, catching her 
frown just in time to correct his mistake.  Her grin 
got even brighter and that assured him he'd made 
the save.

"Watch the roads, it was cold today but we had 
some sun so the ice might have melted a bit and 
now it will be slick," she warned.  Mulder and 
Scully both waved as they got into the car.

"Well, that certainly went well," Scully griped.  

"Oh, I don't know.  I got a bowl of my favorite soup 
out the deal," Mulder shrugged, putting the car in 
gear and backing out of the driveway.

"She wants us to move back to DC, she's already 
planning a summer wedding -- with Bill in 
attendance -- oh, yeah, that was a great visit," 
Scully responded, folding her arms across her chest.  

"Want me to knock over a bank or two on the way 
home -- get back on the 10 most wanted?" Mulder 
deadpanned.

She snorted but a smile played on her lips.  She 
looked out the window at the darkening sky.  
"Thank you -- for not mentioning -- well, you 
know."

He sighed.  "I figured it was your place to tell her 
about the inquiry.  Besides, we'll know more 
tomorrow, right?  Why just worry her when there's 
nothing much to say?"

She nodded silently.  He snaked his hand over and 
patted her thigh.  She grabbed his hand and 
squeezed it tight.  They held hands until they were 
well on the road to rural Virginia. 

Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital
9:15 am

The day had dawned bright with no clouds in the 
sky.  Scully had often marveled at the blue skies of 
deep winter, how they could be so bold when the 
sun held only the slightest memory of warmth.  It 
was certainly the case that morning.  

The email she'd received had instructed her to arrive 
no later than 9:30 and that the board would be 
meeting in the hospital conference room on the first 
floor.  She locked the car door after exiting and 
made her way around the piles of frozen slush to the 
hospital entrance.

When they'd returned home, she and Mulder had 
gone straight to bed, holding each other through the 
night.  He'd offered, somewhat hesitantly, to go 
with her to the inquiry but she'd assured him it 
wasn't necessary.  She promised to call the minute 
she was out of the hearing.

She'd worn her most expensive pantsuit, navy blue 
wool, one she never would have indulged in on her 
government salary.  Not having to replace her work 
clothes every other week did have some advantages 
and Mulder had raved over it when she'd brought it 
home from a rare trip to see her mother.  Her silk 
blouse was royal blue, Mulder had picked it out on 
line and told her it matched the color of her eyes.  It 
was what had once been called a 'power suit' -- a 
suit of armor.  If she was going to the gallows, 
damn it, she was going to look like a million dollars 
on the way.

The board of inquiry was made up of the various 
chiefs of each of the specialties in the hospital and 
the three Viatorian Fathers who made up the 
Administration, Father Ybarra, Father Jeffries and 
Father James.  When she entered the room, her 
memory flashed back first to a conference room in 
the Hoover Building with a similar looking group of 
distinguished Assistant Directors and then to a 
cement walled prison room on a military installation 
with five jurists of unknown origin -- or species, 
save for Deputy Director Kersh.  She blinked the 
images from her mind as she pulled out the chair 
saved for her and sat down. 

"Dr. Scully, thank you for being so prompt," Father 
Ybarra spoke, his eyes shifting over the pages 
before him on the table.  "I believe you know 
everyone here."  He lifted his eyes to meet hers, a 
challenge or maybe to assess her composure.

"Yes, thank you," Scully said politely.

"We're going to go over your course of treatment 
for Christian Fearon and try to determine if 
anything you did could be considered negligent or 
reckless or more importantly, to be in the area of 
malpractice.  Also we have to determine if the 
hospital shares any possible liability from you 
actions, if it is proven that you were at fault.  We'll 
begin with Dr. Michels, Chief of Pediatrics.  Dr. 
Michels, the floor is yours."

Rural Virginia
12:45 pm

Mulder did one last push up and then flopped down, 
rolling onto his back.  It wasn't working.  He'd 
already run 7 miles, done fifty sit-ups and forty-five 
push-ups and he was still wired too tight to think.  
He glanced over at his cell phone, lying just inches 
from him in case it rang while he was trying to push 
himself into exhaustion.  Just to be sure he reached 
over and checked the screen.  No missed calls, no 
text messages. 

Damn.

Now he was sweaty and in the drafty house that was 
a recipe for disaster.  But he didn't dare take a 
shower in case she might call while he was cleaning 
off the sweat.  He opted to put on a sweatshirt and 
prowled the house one more time. 

Skinner had sent him an email with an attachment 
but he hadn't bothered to open it yet.  If it was a 
case, he didn't want to know.  The minute he 
opened it his mind would be occupied with it and 
not with her.  Today, until he knew Scully's fate, he 
didn't want anything to be a distraction -- at least 
not a distraction from which he couldn't easily walk 
away.

His stomach growled and he remembered he'd 
skipped breakfast for his long run.  He continued his 
path into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and 
started removing the makings of a sandwich when 
he heard the key in the front door.

He dropped the lunchmeat back on the shelf, closed 
the refrigerator door and hurried to meet her.

Scully was hanging her coat on the coat hooks by 
the door when he made it to the living room.  He 
opened his mouth to give her his usual greeting, but 
stopped short when he saw the tears marring her 
cheeks.

"Ah, Scully," he sighed and opened his arms.  In 
two steps she was there, encircling him and he 
wrapped her in a comforting embrace.  She sobbed 
into his chest and he kissed the top of her head.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Leading her over to the couch, he sat them down, 
her on his lap and let her continue to cry.  After a 
few minutes, she drew in a deep breath and calmed 
down.  She didn't speak immediately, just smiled at 
him through her tears.

"They determined that I wasn't at fault," she said 
hoarsely.

He cocked his head, confused at her reaction to 
news that he thought they wanted to hear.

"But the hospital administrators, Father Ybarra, 
Father Jefferies and Father James, determined that I 
should have referred the patient to a larger research 
hospital, such as Johns Hopkins, for such 
experimental treatment.  That by doing the 
intercostal stem cell therapy at Our Lady of 
Sorrows, I put the hospital at risk for liability."

He nodded, giving her time to tell her story even 
though it was killing him to have her drag it out so.

She sensed this and finally got to the point.  "In 
short, they ruled that I was not at fault in Christian's 
death and I will not be remanded to the state for 
removal of my license to practice.  However, by 
entering into an area of treatment that the 
administrators feel is not in our capacity and by 
doing so with full knowledge that the administration 
did not approve, I acted outside my contract.  I am 
no longer employed by Our Lady of Sorrows 
Hospital."

"They fired you," he whispered, not quite 
understanding.

"Yes.  Summarily discharged was the exact 
wording, but the result is the same."

"Oh a technicality," he murmured.

She snorted, bitterly.  "It took them 12 years for the 
FBI to get rid of you, Mulder.  I beat that by half."

He leaned down to place his forehead against hers.  
"Don't say that," he said, moving just enough to 
place a kiss above her nose.  After a moment, he 
hugged her tightly.  "Do you want something to eat?  
I know you didn't have breakfast."

She shrugged, but didn't voice any strong objection.  
He took the silence as acceptance of his offer.  
"C'mon.  I'll make lunch."

"Are you hiding Colonel Sanders in the kitchen?" 
she asked.  It was a weak attempt, but effective.  He 
smiled.

"As a matter of fact . . . "

They feasted on the leftovers from his run to the 
Colonel's a few nights before.  She was shocked 
when she found she could not only taste the food, 
but that it tasted pretty good, considering the fat and 
sodium content.  Even reheated.

"So, I was thinking," he opened the mealtime 
discussion.

"Now you're making me nervous," she shot back.

"You have time, I have time, I think we need to do 
something with all this time."

"If you have a point, Mulder, please feel free to 
come to it," she teased, half-hearted.

"I want us to go away for a few days," he said, 
wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin.

"Go away -- where?"

"Someplace warm and sunny and where they sell 
sunblock by the gallon," he said casually.

"A vacation?" she asked, showing obvious 
discomfort with the idea.

"Don't make it sound like a prison sentence, Scully.  
Think about it.  Hot, sunny beaches,  midnight 
walks along the ocean -- the only ice will be in your 
frozen margarita.  How about it?"

"Mulder -- we can't afford -- "

"Oh yes we can," he said with a wide smile.  
"Scully, between the money Mom and Dad left me, 
plus the houses, let's just say if you want ditch the 
Taurus and get a Beamer for your birthday all I 
really need to know is what style and color.  A little 
trip to the Yucatan Peninsula wouldn't even put a 
dent in the interest payment.  Besides, I think we 
deserve it."

She drew in a deep breath.  "Someplace on the 
ocean?" she queried.

"Palm trees, sand, and all the zinc oxide your little 
nose can handle," he promised with a wink.

She closed her eyes.  "I'll still be unemployed when 
we get back," she said sadly.

"And so will I.  But at least we'll be rested and we 
can face all our options," he reasoned.

Her smile was all the answer he needed.  He 
finished his lunch and ran off to his computer to 
find them the perfect retreat. 


Los Cabos, Mexico
January 24, 2008

Scully walked out onto the veranda and looked at 
the ocean's surf crashing not more than 50 yards 
away.  The beach was still in twilight, but if she 
stepped onto the sand and looked behind her she 
would see the first signs of dawn on the purple 
horizon.  The air was still save for the incessant 
thunder of the waves.  It was so peaceful.  
Gathering her long cover-up around her legs, she 
curled up on one of the lounge chairs and leaned 
back.  It was so nice, so relaxing.  She'd have to 
figure out a way to wipe the smug look off Mulder's 
face when she finally admitted this was exactly 
what she needed.

She smiled, glancing over her shoulder through the 
French doors to the bedroom beyond where her 
lover was still sprawled across the bed.  The trip 
had been long, a flight delay in Atlanta caused by a 
snow storm had threatened their vacation.  But 
eventually the storm moved on and they landed only 
several hours late.  Instead of arriving in the light of 
afternoon, they were escorted to their beach cottage 
in the dead of night.  Still, the salt air and the 
crashing of the waves outside their door had led to 
romantic thoughts and activities.  She remembered 
falling asleep to Mulder's heartbeat under her ear 
and wondering how it managed to play such perfect 
counterpoint to the waves. 

She couldn't say what had awakened her, but she 
suspected it was that same longing that always drew 
her to the sea.  She'd vowed to only sit there for a 
few minutes, just long enough to soak in the 
atmosphere, recharge her spirit with the energy of 
the pounding surf before going in back in with 
Mulder.  Maybe she'd test his theory that it didn't 
matter what your physical age might be -- when on 
vacation a body was ready for anything.  Maybe 
nothing too strenuous, but she had no doubt they 
would come up doing something enjoyable.

"Hey, whatcha doin' out here?" his voice rumbled in 
her ear and she startled awake.  

"Oh, sorry," she said, stretching.  He was leaning 
over her and she snaked her arms around his neck, 
dragging him down to her mouth.  After a 
languorous kiss, he scooted her over with his hip 
and joined her in reclining on the lounge.   She 
smiled at him, watching his expression.  "I just -- "

"Heard the surf and couldn't stay away," he said, 
smiling that 'I know you so well' smile of his.  

She leaned forward and captured his lips again.  
When he deepened the kiss her mind flashed on her 
earlier thoughts.  "Want to take this back inside?" 
she asked in her smoky voice.

"Why bother?  We're alone here.  It's a private 
beach.  Let's give Google Earth a show," he purred 
as he found the buttons to her cover-up that was 
serving as both robe and impediment to his desire to 
get them skin-to-skin.

"You certainly woke up on the frisky side," she 
teased as she helped him ease the soft cotton off her 
shoulders.

"No.  More.  Talk."  He punctuated his words with 
kisses.

They did much more than talk and when she awoke 
again, pleasantly warm, she discovered the sun was 
now high in the sky, casting short shadows among 
the palms on their beach.  She also discovered she 
was starving.

"Hey, didn't you tell me on the plane that you'd be 
my slave while we're here?" she asked, waking him 
from his doze.  "Then go get my breakfast."

"I said 'sex slave'," he muttered with his eyes still 
closed.  "Food is not my expertise, unless you 
happen to see a fast food restaurant out in all that 
sand."  He promptly rolled over so that she was 
under him, effectively pinned to the lounge.  

"Guess I'll have to eat what's handy," she replied 
and took a nip at his shoulder, just inches from her 
nose.

"OK, OK, none of that.  I suppose this means we 
have to get dressed," he sighed.

"Unless you happened to book us into a nudist 
colony," she quipped as he slowly moved off her, 
tickling her side till she squeaked.  She grabbed for 
him, but he was already halfway to the bedroom.

She found her cover-up and pulled it on.  When she 
entered their cottage, she found her beloved in the 
tiny efficiency kitchen, still glorious naked, shining 
her a bright morning moon as he leaned into the 
refrigerator.  "Hey, Scully, they stocked the place!  
There's milk, fresh fruit -- oh, wow, pineapple," he 
exclaimed happily, pulling bags and bottles off the 
shelves and placing them on the counter next to 
him.

She smiled and rolled her eyes.  "Don't get frostbite 
in there," she warned with a grin.  She opened one 
of the cabinets closest to her and found assorted 
small cereal packages and all the makings for 
coffee.  "Here, let me handle this, you go get 
something on.  You're making me nervous," she 
told him.

He gave her a feral smile and stalked over to press 
her against the counter.  "Do I scare you, little girl?" 
he growled playfully.

"No, but you play with that thing too close to a fire 
and it might get burned," she purred back and gave 
his ass a squeeze.  He yelped for effect.

"You're probably right," he agreed, kissing her 
lightly on the nose. 

Scully busied herself with coffee and a light 
breakfast of toast and fruit.  Mulder returned 
wearing a pair of bright red swim trunks and his 
running shoes.  He grabbed a spear of pineapple and 
a sip from her cup of coffee before kissing her on 
the side of her mouth.  "I'm going for a quick run."

"Don't you want breakfast?" she asked.

"I'll get some when I come back.  I won't be long.  
Check out what we want to do today."  

She tilted her head and raised one eyebrow.

"After that," he said, wiggling his brows back at 
her.  

"I thought we might go into town, look around," she 
said, sipping from her cup.

"Translation:  shoe shopping," he replied with a 
pain look.  "OK, but I get to pick the night's 
activities."

She thought about that for a moment, considering 
everything Mulder might think to do.  She raised 
her chin at his challenging look.  "Deal," she told 
him. 

The resort arranged for a rental car to arrive at their 
door just before noon.  Mulder had finally 
acquiesced to wearing a short sleeved shirt over his 
swim trunks and had sandals on his feet -- which he 
informed her was as far toward civilization as he 
intended to get during their stay.  Scully had opted 
for a pair of shorts, a tee shirt and sandals.  
Sunglasses were standard apparel this close to the 
ocean.

The village was straight out of a tourist brochure.  A 
small grocery provided all the ingredients for a few 
days worth of dining, including a nice wine to go 
with dinner.  A few shops down the main street 
spoke to the relative wealth of the tourists that 
frequented the village.  A nice women's clothing 
store, an equally nice men's apparel store, two shoe 
shops and a jeweler were sprinkled in among the 
inevitable souvenir and beach shops.  Scully talked 
Mulder out of the surf  board, but couldn't dissuade 
him from buying her a brightly colored beach 
umbrella.

At the end of the shopping district stood a church, 
shining salmon adobe in the hot sun.  Scully drew in 
a breath and turned to Mulder.  "Can we go in -- just 
for a moment?" she asked.

He nodded and followed her into the dark church, 
chewing on his lip.  It wasn't that he was totally 
uncomfortable in a church -- he just knew what was 
on her mind and it upset him that he couldn't shield 
her from the grief he'd hoped to leave in Virginia.

She walked over to a side altar, one with a statue of 
the Virgin Mary, if he wasn't mistaken.  She knelt 
down on the padded kneeler and after tucking a few 
coins in the box provided, she picked up a box of 
matches and reverently lit two votive candles before 
bowing her head in prayer.

Feeling decidedly like an outsider and not wanting 
to intrude on her prayers, Mulder roamed the 
interior of the small church.  It was rather pretty, 
and obviously centuries old judging from the 
workmanship of the pews and the altar.  The 
carvings on the wall depicted Christ's last hours 
before the crucifixion and he was admiring the 
intricacies of the artistry when a hand landed on his 
shoulder.  He spun around and was met by an older 
man wearing the brown robes Mulder usually 
associated with monks.

"Very pretty, aren't they," the man said in perfect 
unaccented English.  "Oh, I hope I didn't startle 
you," he added.

"No, um not really.  Yes, they're beautiful."  Mulder 
looked over to where Scully was still kneeling, head 
bowed, deep in benediction.  "We're just . . . we just 
stopped in . . . "

"Yes, we get many visitors from the resort.  It's 
always nice when people don't take a vacation from 
God just because they're on vacation," the priest 
said with a mild chuckle.  "I'm Father Farrer, this is 
my parish.  I have a Mass schedule for next Sunday, 
if you're interested."

The idea that had been playing tag along his mind 
for the past week finally formed and Mulder smiled 
at the priest.  "Actually, Father, I have a question 
about something, if you have the time."

Mary's Altar

The ancient words rolled off her tongue in a soft 
whisper.  "Remember, oh most Gracious Virgin 
Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled 
to Thy protection, implored Thy help or sought Thy 
intercession was left unaided.  Inspired by this 
confidence I fly unto Thee, O Virgin of Virgins, my 
mother; to Thee do I come, before Thee I kneel, 
sinful and sorrowful.  Despise not my petitions but 
in your mercy hear and answer me." 

It wasn't a new prayer, being one of the first her 
mother had taught her as a child.  It wasn't even a 
forgotten prayer, for she'd whispered the words 
every day since she placed her son in the arms of 
the social worker from the adoption agency.  She'd 
prayed it over and over again, sometimes several 
times a day when Mulder had gone missing and 
then when he was returned seemingly dead.  What 
she had learned over time was that the answers 
given weren't always what she wanted.  Moreover, 
she had finally learned to live with the answers, 
regardless of her desires on the matter.  Miracles did 
happen, she was sure of that.  Sometimes they just 
took time.

"Ask Your Son to bless my sweet William and his 
new family," she added.  She smiled softly, "and 
bless Fox, but don't let him know I asked."   Her 
heart clenched a little and she continued.  "Take 
Christian into your arms as he comes to you, and 
please help his mother and father understand.  Help 
me to understand."  She concluded the prayer and 
wiped hastily at her eyes, clearing them of the 
unshed tears.

She rose and looked around the church.  Mulder 
apparently had gone outside.  She knew he wouldn't 
be far, but she also knew he wasn't all that 
comfortable with her religion.  She cast one more 
look at the small church, letting the peace flow over 
her before she headed for the overly bright sunshine 
of the tropical morning.

He wasn't on the street and she looked around at the 
little shops, wondering where he had wandered.   
Spying one with a familiar sign painted in a 
window, she marveled at the prime example of a 
'global economy'.  Mulder had once told her there 
was a Starbucks on the moon.  She smiled and 
walked over to the store, inhaling the rich smells as 
she pulled open the door.

She walked up to the counter and ordered her usual, 
pleasantly surprised to find the young barista 
understood her mangled attempt at Spanish.  Maybe 
'soy latte double shot' didn't really need translation.  
She paid for her purchase and was just about to sit 
down when Mulder came through the door.  

"There you are," he exclaimed with a smile that 
seemed overly excited, given that they had only 
been separated for a few minutes.  "I thought I'd lost 
you."

"The town is three blocks long, Mulder.  I think 
your investigative skills could handle that, even if 
they are a little rusty," she teased, but accepted his 
hello kiss gratefully.  He placed his order and came 
over to the table by the window where she was 
seated.

"Nice little town," she commented.

"Yeah," he agreed absently.  He took her hands in 
his and stroked her knuckles, lost in thought.  He 
didn't even look up when the barista called out their 
order.

"Earth to Mulder," she joked but frowned slightly 
when he looked up, startled.  "Hey, you OK?"

"Great.  Never better," he said quickly.  "Oh, that's 
us," he added for no one's real benefit and jumped 
up to retrieve their coffees.  

"OK, Mulder, what are you hiding?" she murmured 
under her breath.

He came back to the table and after a quick check of 
the side, handed her the cup.  She watched him 
suspiciously as he sat down and gingerly sipped his 
coffee.  

They were quiet for a few minutes, Scully regarding 
him closely to determine what was on Mulder's 
mind.  She finally decided it was the stop at the 
church, religion had often been a sore spot between 
them.  But when he smiled at her and tilted his head 
in that totally disarming manner of his, she scolded 
herself.  Maybe he was just at loose ends having the 
freedom to go and do whatever he pleased.

"Hey, I have a suggestion for how we can spend this 
evening," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Mulder -- we don't want to wear out the bed on our 
first day here," she teased.

"I like the way you think, Doc -- but not quite what 
I was thinking.  I saw a boat rental place just down 
the street."

"Boat rental?"   Scully couldn't hide her skepticism.  
"How do you say 'Dramamine' in Spanish, 
Mulder?"

He rolled his eyes in exasperation.  "Not fair, 
Scully.  I grew up on an island -- and before you go 
dragging up ancient history, that long ago trip to the 
North Atlantic was in stormy seas.  C'mon -- I 
found out there's a little island less than a mile out.  
There are picnic shelters over there.  We can get the 
makings of a picnic supper and row across to the 
island."

"Row?" she repeated, her left eyebrow immediately 
joining her right in open doubt.

"Yes, row.  I do know how to row a boat," he said, 
his tone showing his wounded pride.

"Mulder, out in a row boat on open water -- I'll be a 
lobster before we make it half a mile."

"Ah, but that's why I thought we'd make it a 'dinner' 
picnic.  The sun will be lower and not as strong.  
Wear your suit and that cover up you had on this 
morning -- you'll be fine."

"You're set on this," she noted critically.

"It'll be fun, I promise," he prodded.

She sighed but couldn't keep the smile from her 
face.  "This is your escapade, Mulder.  I'm just the 
deck ornament -- all rowing is your department."

"I plan to show you my manly prowess on the open 
water, Scully," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

She laughed in delight.  "OK, I'm sold."

Baja Coast
Mexico
4:30 pm

Scully looked up at the clear, cloudless sky with a 
hand cupped to her eyes.  It was perfect, too 
wonderful for words.  Dropping her gaze, she 
couldn't keep the smiled from her face.  Mulder was 
stroking the oars for all he was worth, his nearly 50 
year old body looking decades younger, his 
expression spoke of a calm contentment that she 
couldn't remember seeing in years -- if she'd ever 
witnessed it in their time together. She 
contemplated that as she lounged against the stern, 
the ocean breeze riffling her hair, the hat she'd 
brought discarded under her seat, next to their 
picnic basket and beach blanket.  

"Penny for your thoughts," he called over to her. 

"I'm just thinking -- that you look really good over 
there.  All manly manish," she quipped.

"Let's hope you think the smell of Icy Hot is sexy.  I 
think I'm gonna be using a few jars when we get 
back to the cottage," he responded with a wink.

The sound of a small helicopter passing overhead 
caused them to look up.  "They give tours of the 
coast," Mulder commented and waved to the pilot, 
who dipped in response.  Scully smiled and waved 
as well.  "Want to take a ride tomorrow?" he asked.

"No thanks.  I've had enough rides in helicopters in 
the last couple of weeks.  Maybe I'll just have you 
row me to another part of the coast," she said with a 
tilt of her head.

"If you pull out a drum and start pounding out a 
rhythm, you might have a mutiny on your hands," 
he informed her.

She laughed at him and tilted her head back.  The 
sun was low on the horizon out over the open 
ocean.  She could see the island they were rowing 
toward grow slight larger with each stroke of the 
oars in the water.  "So, you realize we'll be rowing 
back in total darkness," she commented.

"Who said we're coming back tonight?" he parried.

"We're spending the night?  Mulder -- "  She 
stopped, all objections swept from her mind as her 
baser instincts caught on to his plan.  They had a 
blanket, it was the tropics and far from cold at night.  
They had enough food for dinner and some left over 
for breakfast.  And they had nothing else required of 
them and nowhere else they had to be.  "You are a 
genius," she sighed.

He grinned broadly and nodded once, accepting her 
praise.  "I thought you'd see it my way.  We have to 
have the boat back by 3 tomorrow.  Until then, we 
get our own private island."

"What if there are pirates on the island," she teased 
with mock concern.

"I'll battle them off with my trusty oar," he assured 
her, which was answered by a less than ladylike 
snort.

"Good thing I still remember a little hand to hand 
combat training," she muttered, knowing full well 
he could hear her.

"That's exactly what I was counting on," he shot 
back with sly smile.

Island off the Mexican Baja Coast
6:45 pm

Mulder rolled over onto his back, licking the last of 
the crumbs of his dinner from his fingers.  "You 
make a mean picnic, Doc," he said with a sigh.

"Oh, yes.  It took me all of five minutes, packing it 
in the basket," she deadpanned.  "How's the back?"

"Back's fine.  Hands, on the other hand -- "  He held 
out his hands, palms facing her, the raw blisters 
starkly evident.

She took his hands and turned them up, leaning over 
to give each a kiss.  "So, I guess you should have 
used the gloves, huh?"

"Just had to bring that up, didn't ya?" he quipped.

"Well, you did walk right into it," she admitted 
slyly.  She threw her leg over his torso, straddling 
him and smiled down at him, her expression 
growing sultry.  "Hey there, sailor.  New in town?"

He burst out laughing, pulling her down to rest on 
his chest.  "Yeah.  As a matter of fact, I'm lookin' 
for a good time.  Interested?"  He dragged her up so 
her mouth was within his reach and kissed her 
slowly, taking his time, sliding his tongue over her 
tongue and tickling the roof of her mouth.  Not to be 
outdone, she quickly joined in the festivities.

The night breeze was cooling the sweat from their 
bodies as they lay on the blanket, her head resting 
on his shoulder.  He was feeling languid, liquid, and 
the stars blinking above their heads seemed to be 
shining just for them.  Maybe it was finally the right 
time.

"Scully, I have a question to ask you and I need an 
honest opinion," he said.

"I really liked the speedos, Mulder, but the red 
trunks are a turn on, too," she quipped.

"That wasn't exactly the question.  Well, it was, but 
not the first question," he replied dryly.

"OK, shoot," she said.  "What is the question that 
needs an honest opinion -- like I don't give you 
those on a daily basis."  She was smiling up at him 
and he could just see her in the light of the lantern 
they'd found on the boat.

He drew in a big breath and forged ahead.  "Why 
isn't it a good idea that we get married?"

She blinked but said nothing.

"I mean, Scully, if you're holding out for another 
guy -- hell, I understand, but if we're here, and we're 
not going anywhere -- "

"You want to marry me, Mulder?  Is that what 
you're proposing?" she asked quietly.

He snorted, but it was more painful than humorous.  
"Scully.  I wanted to marry you somewhere around 
the time we came back from Wilkesland.  I think if I 
were completely honest with myself, maybe even 
before then.  But I understand -- "

"Mulder, there were reasons back then.  Not the 
least was the fact that we worked together.  And 
then there was Diana -- "

"No, we aren't going there," he broke in.  "You 
never understood that Diana was more friend than . 
. . whatever.  She wasn't in any way, shape or form -
- "  He stopped talking when she put her fingers to 
his lips.

"I thought you were proposing," she teased, the 
tenderness in her voice taking the edge off the jibe.

"I am," he said around her fingers.  "If you're 
considering," he added, kissing the tips of those 
fingers before he took them in his hand and placed 
them over his heart.

She was quiet for a long time and under her hand 
she could feel his heart rate speed up.  He wasn't 
joking, he was being completely serious this time.  
Looking up and seeing the blanket of stars so close 
they could reach out and touch them -- she 
understood this was what he'd been planning all 
day.  She could not conceive of a more romantic 
place for a proposal.

She thought long and hard for a few seconds.  
Images flashed before her mind -- her devastation 
upon finding his broken and cold body in a field.  
Lowering his casket into the frozen earth.  The 
overwhelming sense of joy and completeness when 
he opened his eyes at the hospital and she laid her 
head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat in time to 
hers.  The six years of running, but at the same time, 
building a life together on a more solid foundation 
than what they'd previously shared because it was 
just the two of them -- no one else mattered.  She 
realized they'd been 'married' an awfully long time.  
Maybe it was time to let the rest of their new world 
in on the secret.

"Maybe," she said, clearing the tears from her 
throat.  "Maybe it's time we did get married."  She 
looked at his face and saw his eyes misting up.  
"But there better be jewelry involved," she warned 
him, half teasing.

"Oh, there is, there is!" he assured her.  "Gimme a 
minute."  He broke free from their embrace and 
rolled over to his knees to dig through the small 
backpack where he'd carried the beach blanket.  He 
turned around and held out a tiny velvet box.  "Um, 
would you mind sitting up?"

She laughed at the befuddled look on his face.  
"Sure," she consented and pushed up to a sitting 
position on the blanket.  He crawled over to her and 
then knelt down so that they were almost level.  It 
took him a moment to get the ring box open, his 
hands were shaking so badly.  She almost took pity 
on him and opened the box herself, but she realized 
it was something he had to do.  Finally, pulling the 
ring out of the velvet, he took her hand and looked 
into her eyes.

"Final answer time, Scully.  Will you marry me?"

Tears were streaming down her face and she had to 
wipe them away before she could look into his eyes.  
"Yes, Fox Mulder, I will marry you," she answered.

Now the tears were glistening in his eyes as he slid 
the ring on her finger.  It was a perfect fit.  The 
band held a one-carat diamond in a simple gold 
setting.  The stone caught the light from the lantern 
and glittered as she moved her hand.  She stared at 
it, mesmerized and then up into his face.  His eyes 
were a thousand times more mesmerizing than the 
diamond.

"I love you so much, Scully.  I can't imagine 
spending the rest of my life without you in it," he 
choked out as he pulled her to his chest and held her 
tightly.  She managed to wiggle around in his 
embrace until she could tilt her head and kiss him.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life with 
anyone else," she told him.

From that one kiss, they quickly toppled to the 
blanket, arms and legs entwined.   Their lovemaking 
was gentle and tender and both were fighting sleep 
while their bodies cooled in the soft breeze.  Mulder 
wiggled around a bit and soon they were covered by 
half the beach blanket.  Scully snuggled closer into 
his shoulder.

"So, when?" she asked, around a yawn.

"The wedding?  I was thinking about that," Mulder 
whispered into her hair.  "If we wait till we get 
home -- "

"My mom will turn it into Camelot, complete with 
horse drawn carriage," Scully sighed.  "I would 
really rather avoid that, to be perfectly honest."

"I asked Father Farrer . . . "  At her perplexed look, 
he explained.  "The priest at the church today.  He 
said we could get married here, if you want."

"You talked to the priest about us getting married?  
Before you even asked me?  Awful sure of yourself, 
weren't you?" she teased, poking him in the rib.

"Let's just say I wanted to investigate some extreme 
possibilities," he shot back.  "He said it would be 
the civil ceremony that would be recognized in the 
US, but he gave me the details of what we need to 
do and said he'd be happy to perform the religious 
ceremony, if you wanted one.  Anyway, if we come 
back already married, it definitely would mean your 
mother would be pissed at us for a while -- "

"But as we've learned after years of government 
service, Mulder, it's always easier to ask forgiveness 
than wait for permission."  She leaned up and kissed 
him, then snuggled back against his shoulder.  "I 
like the idea.  The little church is beautiful."

"Well, then, how about tomorrow?" he asked, his 
eyes crinkling with amusement.

"I don't know -- I'll have to see if I'm free," she 
answered in kind and wasn't at all surprised by the 
attack of his fingers on her ribs.  "Oh, I just checked 
my schedule," she puffed through bouts of giggles.  
"Tomorrow is good for me."

"Great," he said, pulling her head down to rest on 
his shoulder again.  "Now, go to sleep.  I have a big 
day ahead of me tomorrow."

"You have a big day?" she challenged.

"Yeah, I have to row us back, too, you know."

She snickered.  "Ah, don't get too worn out.  I 
expect a wedding night."

"So do I," he replied and kissed her.  "Now, I repeat 
-- sleep."

She rolled her eyes, but snuggled closer.  "Love 
you," she whispered as she felt herself drift off.

"Love you, too," he answered just before his 
breathing evened out and they were both fast asleep.

Dulles Airport
6 days later

"You ready?" Mulder asked as he pulled the last 
bag out of the overhead compartment.  

"For anything," Scully assured him, but deep inside, 
her stomach was a convention of angry butterflies.  

Going home was going to be problematic, but in 
their rush to leave and find their tropical retreat, 
many plans had been made in haste.  They'd 
decided to turn in the rental from Mulder's accident 
when they'd arrived at the airport for their 
impromptu vacation.  With one quick phone call, 
Scully had made arrangements with her mother for 
a ride upon their return.  What hadn't been 
considered was how her mother would react to the 
news that the partners were now happily married -- 
all in one week's time.

They had come back from the island, fresh for their 
new adventure.  It had taken three days and a trip to 
the American Consulate up the peninsula to secure 
the proper documentation to marry on foreign soil.  
Skinner's secretary Kim Cook, who was now the 
administrative assistant to the Director, had been 
invaluable -- and promised to keep her involvement 
completely top secret until they revealed the news 
themselves.  Father Farrer had performed a simple 
wedding at the church with two of the ladies of the 
parish stepping in to act as witnesses for both the 
civil and religious ceremonies.  After all the running 
around, they spent the remaining two days of their 
now de facto honeymoon lying in the lounge at the 
beach house, alternately making love and sleeping 
as the mood fit.

Never one to dream about her wedding, Scully had 
to admit -- it had been everything she'd ever 
wanted, but nothing that she'd ever expected.  By 
the time they finished at the village civic center, the 
sun had been setting.  Father Farrer had suggested 
they have a candlelight wedding and it had been 
more romantic than anything she could have 
imagined.  They returned to the cottage and dined 
on seafood and champagne and then consummated 
their marriage out on the lounge under a full moon 
and a sky full of stars.  Even after all the years, she 
felt like a newlywed and she loved it.  Maybe there 
was something to be said for waiting a while, 
however 13 years did seem a little excessive in the 
'get to know each other' department.  Still, she 
couldn't be happier with the result.

A passenger behind her cleared his throat and 
Scully realized she'd been standing in the aisle, 
daydreaming.  She gave him an apologetic smile 
and hurried after her -- husband?  She almost 
giggled at the thought.  Mulder was her everything, 
but putting a name to it had always been an exercise 
in futility.  Partner had been suitable for so long, but 
it really had lost much of its appeal when he'd run 
off to chase Russian mad scientists on his own.  
Husband was just such an alien concept when 
applied to her life mate.  It would take some getting 
used to and with a start she realized he was 
probably having the same trouble thinking of her as 
his 'wife'.

As they made it off the jetway, Mulder waited for 
her to catch up.  Walking side by side through the 
rush of passengers felt so normal, she absently 
checked the back of her slacks for her missing 
service weapon.

"Want me to tell her?  She might take it better from 
me," Mulder suggested, telling her exactly where 
his mind was.

"No, Mom is always after me for not 'fessing up', as 
she calls it.  I better do it.  But I hate to tell her in 
the baggage claim area.  Depending on how she 
takes the news, we might have to make our way 
home without her assistance."

Mulder broke into a grin and took her hand.  "I have 
a feeling she won't be that mad, once she has a 
minute or two to think it through."

Maggie was standing by the baggage carousel, 
searching the faces for her daughter.  When she 
caught sight of Dana, her smile lit up the dingy 
concourse and she waved them over.  "Fox, Dana!  
Over here," she called.  She went to hug her 
daughter and stopped, looking down at their hands.  
She sighed and crossed her arms.  "You just 
couldn't face a wedding with your brother there, 
could you?" she accused.

Mulder chewed on his lip and glanced furtively over 
to the carousel.  "Oh, look, our bags are up," he 
practically crowed and hurried over to get their 
luggage.

"Mom, I know you're angry -- " Scully started, but 
at Maggie's chuckle, she frowned.  "Mom?"

"Sweetheart, I can't blame you.  I'd like to.  I'm hurt 
that I wasn't invited.  But if I had to sit through your 
wedding with Bill fussing and fuming next to me, I 
think I might have run off to Mexico with you."  
She reached out her arms and Scully quickly fell 
into her embrace.  After a moment, Maggie looked 
up and motioned Mulder over.  "You're not getting 
out of this, Fox.  C'mere."  The group hug lasted 
just a minute, but it lifted a terrific burden off the 
newly married couples shoulders.  

"The car is in short term.  Let's go and maybe I can 
convince you to stay for dinner tonight.  Maybe 
even stay the night?" she offered.

"Do Dana and I get to sleep in the same room," 
Mulder quipped.

Maggie poked him in the ribs.  "If you're quiet," she 
admonished.  "But then, I'm a pretty heavy sleeper 
and the walls are pretty thick.  That's why we 
bought the place, you know."

"Mom!" Dana exclaimed.  

"Oh, Dana, Charlie's right.  You are way too easy," 
Maggie giggled.  "Now, tell me all about the 
wedding I missed.  Oh, and you know we're going 
to have a reception for you here.  Something simple, 
maybe a nice dinner at that Italian place you like -- 
what is the name?"

"Bella Napoli," Mulder provided.

"Yes, that's the one.  They have a party room.  We 
can coordinate it for when Bill and Tara are out this 
summer -- we can get started on the guest list -- "

Mulder caught Scully's arm and pulled her back a 
step.  "I thought we avoided all this by getting 
hitched on vacation."

"You underestimate the power of a mother denied 
her daughter's wedding to plan.  Just look at it this 
way -- all we have to do is show up, eat and open 
gifts.  I won't even make you wear a tux.  Piece of 
cake and we're out of there."

"I'm holding you to that," he pouted.

The end