TITLE: "Reflections in the New Millennium" BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: V; mild MT & ST; MSR; A; H RATING: PG-13 for hint of adult situations (seeing as some friends said I was getting rather 'badass' with all those recent R-rated stories. I stridently refute such claims. I'm a junior Bad Ass In Training - or BAIT, as Gerry helpfully pointed out... And Vickie's last instalment helped keep this one chaste!) SUMMARY: On the third day of Marriage my true love is down with the flu and has probably passed it onto me, which is certainly more novel than a partridge in a pear tree. But at this time of year other potential clouds are on the horizon too... TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Part of Vickie's and my "New Millennium" series. This is the sixth in the series and comes after "Facing the Pitfalls of the New Millennium". It has spoilers for: "Millennium", "Anasazi", "Christmas Carol/Emily/All Souls", "Beyond the Sea" and "The Pilot". NOTE: Vickie and I are not fond of XF's whole Emily storyline, but as Vickie said: "It's there. It's the 800 lb gorilla in the living room and we just have to deal with it." So we have. ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived anywhere as long as my name, addy and disclaimer stay intact. FEEDBACK: Love it. I appreciate it just as much as seeing M&S kiss. (Tries to prise her finger off the rewind button to give the end of "Millennium" a rest.) THANKS TO: Vickie, Debbie, Gerry and Mac. The stories in this series are available at my website: http://tenxffic.iwarp.com Click on the "New Millennium" banner. There were a few problems with links, but these should be fixed now. If not, email me. DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. Characters not recognised from the show are Vickie's or mine. The X-Files: "Reflections in the New Millennium" (1/2) By Ten, March 26th to April 3rd, 2000 xXx Monday, January 3rd 2000 Dana Scully-Mulder's apartment Time: around seven-thirty am In sickness and in health. I think that should be etched into our wedding cutlery. That is if Mulder ever remains in a fit-enough condition for us to have a more formal wedding with a reception and presents. He's certainly living up to the first part of the vow. And since I've been rather up close and personal to his flu too, I'm sure I'll live up to the motto in a few days as well. We were most likely originally exposed at the same time a few weeks ago but were holding the germs at bay. Now after his tussle with the zombie whatevers on New Year's Eve, he lapsed. But for now he's asleep. When he got out of bed yesterday to go to the bathroom and then suddenly collapsed to the floor, my first thought was that either the church service or my striptease had proved too much for him. The latter had been a pretty rapid and joint shedding of clothes because we wanted to get to bed - to have a nap - and the room was cold. I should be grateful that he didn't sustain a concussion, and that he succumbed post-nap AND after we made love. I just thought he was so hot from what we were doing, not a fever! His immune system was run down. He hasn't been quite the same since his mysterious illness and abduction. Fit enough to resume field agent status, yes, but more easily tired, sleeping longer. I have the theory that when the Y2K millennium flu was poised in the wings, awaiting a chance to take centre stage, Mulder's immune system was probably so distracted by all the sex that the bug staged a takeover before his system realized... "What are you doing? Oh, I think I remember this. I really like this. More please!" as the germs tiptoed past. Hell, they could have stampeded! Neither Mulder or I will be getting 'more of this' until at least the end of the week probably. Bah humbug. I guess it gives time for the friction burns on my inner legs and knees to heal. Talk about a unique honeymoon. Now we can't shop for an engagement ring until next week, probably. When we went to see Skinner yesterday, it felt strange not to be wearing my ring, even after such a short time. And our boss was staring at my neck like a headmaster trying to weigh up if my zombie marks included a few hickeys. They did indeed. That was one reason why I'd packed Mulder off to see Skinner after brunch with Mom instead of doing the horizontal tango: the marks that Mulder had left on my neck were close to the zombie marks, and I didn't think we'd be able to keep up that run of luck, not with Mr Oral, so better to get this meeting over with right away, while the zombie scratches were still predominate. I had tried some makeup too, which helped, but could only do so much. And another reason was that I would not be responsible for my actions if Skinner rang - or, heaven help us, dropped around - in the middle of 'things'. The A.D. scheduled our post-shooting counselling sessions, but now I'm going to have to get on the phone and explain the situation - our illnesses, that is, not our state of matrimony. The time will come to tell him, but not just yet. And at least the hearing over the shooting will not be until some time late next week. Skinner told us to stick around town. "There might be some questions," he said in that understated way. I can just imagine. Zombies? Dead FBI agent ZOMBIES? I'm not planning on leaving town. I wasn't even planning on leaving my bed! But, for now, Mulder is in my bed. Yes, he's still sick, just like that night years ago when his father died. But now we have rings on our fingers. Not bells on our toes, but the bells certainly rang last night before Mulder collapsed. He fits that bed perfectly. I knew he would. You see, he was my measuring stick for it. I bought this bed several months before being assigned to the X-Files. I had gone shopping for a new lounge suite, needing a boost since Ethan and I had gone our separate ways. Then I saw the bed and found myself going over to have a look and a test bounce. It was huge. The entire crowd of a baseball stadium could have slept in it. My toes would never touch the baseboard unless I got up and walked a mile to it. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, and it is queen-sized, not king, but I am of a rather compact size, so it certainly seemed enormous. Anyway, the mattress was wonderful and the frame was well- made. The size, Dana, the size... Impractical, I reminded myself, alarmed at how easily the bed was putting me under its spell. I was NOT an impulse shopper. And there was no one in my life to share such a big bed with. Then I found myself thinking of a few days before that, when I was coming out of my office at Quantico, ready to teach my next class. I noticed a tall man walking down the hallway. He was heading in my direction, but was distracted, in a world of his own. His stride was assured and fluid, the suit did a lot for him, and his face was thoughtful. He didn't notice me. But boy, did he have presence. I thought about him for the rest of that day at Quantico, hoping that he had been transferred here and was not just on a rare visit. My lines of thinking made me bemused with myself. Too tall for me. I'd put my neck out in short order if I went out with him. Yes, it was the same face I came finally eye to eye with in the basement office a few months later, and was able to match name and reputation to face, but when I was looking at that bed, I remembered how tall that man was, at least six feet, and that it would be good to have a bed that covered all sizes. That was being practical, planning ahead. When it was finally delivered and assembled in the bedroom in my apartment, Mom was surprised to say the least, but Melissa just smiled and nodded in approval as she helped me find places for the things that the bed's size had displaced. Now it has finally been christened. When Mulder has been sick in the past, his condition has usually been a 'perfect' excuse to drop my guard with him. Then I could hold him, hold his hand, stroke his face, run my fingers through his hair, caress his skin. I could show my feelings in a 'safe' way. I could even whisper things to him which he would probably not hear or be in no condition to remember. Consciously at least. Now there is no need for an excuse or an act. On the night that William Mulder was murdered, I brought my desk chair around beside the bed for most of the time that my partner was in it, so that I could more easily watch over him and bathe his face and give him water and medicine. Once he opened his eyes and looked at me and whispered my name in such a way - so heartfelt and *erotic* - that if it had have been over a candlelight meal, he would have gotten lucky as soon as we were out of the restaurant. And yesterday when he told me about his fantasies of us in that bed, I was only too happy to aid and abet them into reality. Well, a few of them. We have to wait until Mulder heals and gets his range of motion back before we can do them all. I made a list and added some of my own... I come out of the bathroom, showered and dressed. Mulder is still asleep, fairly peacefully at the moment. I leave the bedroom door half open and head for the kitchen. It's just past eight. I'll phone Skinner at eight thirty and update him. The Christmas tree catches my eye. I smile at it as I go through the living room. Ahab's voice is in my head, gently mocking me about not taking it down. My hand freezes in the act of reaching for the fridge handle. Oh God, what's today's date? The third. It's the third. My honeymoon haze dissolves abruptly. I'd forgotten. Today is the anniversary of my father's and Emily's deaths. Today is the day so many years ago that Mom and Dad had dinner at my house, then left, and he had a massive heart attack. And Emily... She had been in a coma for a few days before she slipped away just after midnight a few years ago. She held on longer than the doctors had expected. I had told Mulder that I wanted to be alone for the inevitable, but when he reappeared in the doorway late on the night of the second, I was glad to see him, and he stayed and he had his arm around me and we were both holding Emily's little hands at the end. Perhaps Emily was waiting for that. Waiting for us to be together again, hoping that we would not be driven apart by her loss and the revelations that her existence had forced into the open. We did have some very rough patches, little one, but we finally made it through them. My father and my daughter. I have seen visions of them both at separate times over the years. I remember the warm feeling I had yesterday when I thought of Melissa, and I wish that I could feel something like that now, for comfort, reassurance... I am sad, yes. Not devastated though. Not anymore. The grief is not as raw. Over time I have come to terms with my infertility and Ahab's disapproval over my career choice. The bad days are much fewer now. But it also brings up other things. Like the issue of children. Does Mulder want children? Do I? And if so, when? How? I do get clucky sometimes, however, if I don't have children, whether through medical intervention or adoption, then I can accept that. God has plans for Mulder and me. Putting children in the mix at the moment may be dangerous. And I know that I do not have to have a baby to be a fulfilled woman. I am a fulfilled, content woman already. I'm just angry that those faceless men took that choice away from me, took so much away from me that no one had the right to take. I jump when the phone rings. Mom. She too has remembered what day it is. I think we're both chagrined that we nearly forgot about it because of all that has happened in the last few days. But even if we did almost forget, I don't think Ahab or Emily would begrudge us some joy at last. Mom is being hesitant. I know she isn't sure whether or not to mention Emily. I wonder what figure she gives when people ask how many grandchildren she has. Does she include Emily? I know it was difficult for her to accept. When people ask me if I have any children, I say no. I don't say that to try to wipe Emily out of existence, but it is too hard to explain to others. I want to keep her, and the bizarre means of her existence, private. Like Karen said in sessions during that year, I didn't get a chance to really know my daughter. It takes time to bond with a child, carrying it to term, birth, the care that follows. I didn't get that. My confusion was hard to bear. The guilt of not feeling stronger, or of not knowing what to feel. It took a while to realize and accept that my feelings for her were like she was a niece, Melissa's daughter, or even slightly more removed than that. Karen helped me see that was understandable, that I wasn't terrible for thinking such a thing. But no child should have to be put through what Emily was. Or conceived in such a manner. Mom wants to know if I want to do something to mark the date. I guess she's thinking of flowers in the ocean like we did last year, as there are no real graves to visit. Just a headstone in San Diego. Their physical final resting places are out of my reach. And in winter and with Mulder's current condition, I can't go to the pier where Ahab's ashes were scattered or to the nearest beach to just sit and think. I tell Mom that Mulder has the flu - I didn't have a chance to earlier in the conversation. So it is best if I stay here. Mom offers to drop some groceries around this afternoon - more tissues, more orange juice, milk, bread. I readily agree. "That will be great, Mom. Thanks. But I don't want to risk giving you these germs, if we didn't accidentally give them to you on Sunday. I'm sure I've already got them." "Then I'll just knock, drop the bags and run!" she jokes. We laugh. "Thanks, Mom. I love you." "I love you too, dear. Fox too. Bye." Bill will be overjoyed to hear that Mulder is ill. That means no sex. Suddenly my mood is lightened by the thought that Mulder may have already passed our germs onto him. Revenge. I can't help laughing. I go have some orange juice from the dwindling supply. I'm hoping to stave off the flu, or at least prevent a bad dose of it. I get my cereal out, eat, phone Skinner and decide to check in on Mulder again because I think I can hear the toilet flushing. He needs to eat something. Before I can get there to see, the phone rings again. "Scully." "YOU'RE MARRIED????" is shrieked down the line. "Hello, Tara. Yes, I am." "Oh my God!" my sister-in-law cries down the line from San Diego. "Matty woke me up early, so when I got him off to sleep again I rang Bill - I knew it wouldn't wake Mom because she's up so early - and he told me the good news!" Yeah, I'm sure that was his phrasing... Tara proceeds to pour out congratulations and so many questions that I can barely get in my answers. Talk about being pumped for information... But I think this is one of the first things we are really bonding over. When I finally get off the phone with a numb ear, I find that Mulder is asleep again. He had a rough night (once we got back from the hospital), going through a lot of tissues, so it's catching up with him now. He moves restlessly, and I stroke his cheek to calm him. I want him to have breakfast, but I don't want to wake him up. We still haven't told his mother about us. I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to that or not. But we'd better not put it off too much longer. Once we're well again. After washing my breakfast dishes, I bring out the boxes to put the Christmas decorations away in. I remember when I performed this ritual after I came back from the Boggs case and from that Christmas in San Diego. Putting away the Christmas decorations was comforting, in a way, like physically holding each little piece of hurt or hope and putting it in its place, away, compartmentalising but acknowledging each one. Then the boxes would go on a shelf in a cupboard and I would get on with things, knowing they were there and that I could bring them out again if and when I wanted to. Or sometimes the feelings would come back unexpectedly, like when I would see the boxes while cleaning or once one fell out, taking me by surprise. A jolt, like when I saw Emily's ghost that time at Easter. Each year, the decorations have been easier to take out, and then to put away when the time comes. I am halfway through the task when I hear a shuffling sound. Mulder appears in the doorway, looking pale and unsteady. The now-empty water pitcher is in one hand and a bunch of tissues is loosely clutched in the hand of his injured arm. He is looking around in some puzzlement. "Mulder, what are you doing up? Go back to bed!" He looks at me in surprise. "Scully, what are you doing here?" If he's forgotten our wedding, I am going to scream. "Mulder, I'm here because we got married, remember?" He frowns, then his face clears and an 'Oh YEAH!' expression pops up like a switch has been flicked. "And I can see that you remember the part where we made mad, passionate love too. Good. We decided to use my apartment for the next few days at least. Is that coming back to you?" I put my hand to his forehead. He doesn't seem any hotter than when I brought him home from the hospital last night. "Your apartment? Oh. That explains why I can't find the kitchen..." His voice is vague. He holds up the pitcher. "I need to get more water." "I'll get it for you. You get back to bed." Very soon he is back under the covers and has drained a glass. I am tucking him in. The refilled pitcher is back on the stand. He doesn't feel like having any breakfast, but I'll try to get some soup or toast into him soon. "Mulder, when you wanted more water, did you call out to me?" "No." "Why not?" Perhaps his throat was sore - but he seemed to speak all right when he appeared in the living room. And I'm sure I would have heard him if he had tried to call out. Then again, a few minutes ago, he couldn't remember our marital bliss... Mulder looks at me. "Just...didn't occur to me. Sorry..." My heart is tugged again by the look on his face. He is not used to this. He is not used to having someone to do things for him unless he's in hospital, and even then he's usually so busy trying to fight his way to the nearest exit. I kiss him on the forehead. When I pull back, Mulder's eyes are looking at me closely over a tissue he currently has pressed to his nose. "What's happened?" comes out muffled through it. I hesitate. I really don't want to bring up what day it is. Not that I want to keep anything from Mulder anymore, but what can he do? I don't want him getting worked up when he's sick, or guilty over something that was out of his hands, and it's not like I'm a broken-down mess in tears. Though it would be nice to be held. I tell him. And then we spend the next hour in bed, in each other's arms. Or rather my two arms and Mulder's one good one. I reassure him about how I am feeling and that this is the best thing he can do for me. But I can sense that something isn't quite right. "Mulder, you're not feeling guilty, are you?" "I'm just sad that I never got to meet your father. And that with Emily..." There is pain in his voice, and I realize that it's not just guilt he is feeling, but loss. He's sad that we never got to be a family. Somehow Emily was solely of my DNA - there was no father. I wince at the echo of 'The Phantom Menace' in there. In a way I am glad - what happened was bad enough without some stranger's DNA being mixed with mine, but in a way I wish she had been Mulder's too. I know he would have cared for her like she was his. He did when he picked her up in the children's home. I remember the desire he only spoke of once: for a small town life. He has kept this pain from me, I realize. He didn't want to add to my own sorrow. I hold him close and whisper reassurances and my love and gratitude for him, and keep up a stream of tissues as required. There is a knock at the door. I know that knock. Mom. I kiss Mulder on the forehead and get out of bed in my rumpled clothes and answer the door. I would love to hug her, especially today of all days, but this flu... We risk one quick but heartfelt hug, and then she stays out in the corridor and we talk through the doorway as I take the groceries in. She knows that I'll be okay and so will she. Then she blows me a kiss and leaves. As I am finishing putting the groceries away, I notice that the bedroom door is shut. I had left it half-open. Perhaps Mulder is getting dressed to come lie on the sofa and watch TV and didn't want to risk exposing Mom to a full moon? Then I hear him being sick. I hurry in to find him hanging half out of bed, head almost in the bucket I had stationed just so, dry heaving for all he's worth. When that bout passes, I notice his cellular and wallet are now on the nightstand next to the bed. As far as I know, both were last in the clothes he had discarded on the floor yesterday afternoon after we got back from FBI Headquarters. I hadn't gotten around to picking them up yet because I didn't want to disturb him and there had been other things to do. I point to the cellular. "Why have you got that out?" He flushes even more. "Expecting a call." "Who from?" "Someone," he hedges. "Scully, can I have more tissues, please?" I put two and two together. He phoned someone when I was talking to Mom. But who, and why didn't he want me to hear, or to know now? "Some honeymoon, huh?" he says wryly, changing the subject. "We'll be on honeymoon for the rest of our lives, or at least I intend to be." "Right behind you." "Really? I thought you guys preferred to be on top?" Mulder then starts a pillow fight he has no chance of winning. xXx Half an hour later I am dusting when I hear a cellular ringing. Mine is out here on the dining room table, so it has to be Mulder's. I move towards the half-open bedroom door. "You have? Great! Yes, as soon as possible please." There is a pause. "That's correct. Half an hour? Thank you." I hear him put the phone down, then go, "Yes!" in quiet triumph. I walk into the room. "Who was that?" A classic 'caught' look billboards itself across his face. "Um... I feel like getting up. Will I be under your feet if I come out onto the sofa and watch TV for a while?" All right, I'll play along for now. "Okay, but only for an hour or so. Bed rest, the doctor said. And you're still sick." "And twisted." I help him out to the sofa and make sure he is settled with the remote and water and so on. I give him some crackers and toast. He asks me if I've started showing any symptoms yet. "Not yet." I vacuum up some stray pine needles. Over the next forty-five minutes, Mulder goes into fidget-mode: shifting, craning his neck to look out the window, checking the time, changing channels every five seconds, shredding the bread, crumbling the crackers to dust, taking a pencil off the coffee table and seeming to consider propelling it ceiling-wards. "Don't you dare." He jumps and drops it. I've had enough of being patient. "What are you looking for? Who's coming?" He hesitates. Then there is a knock at the door. He looks relieved and hopeful and throws back the blanket, swinging his feet onto the floor. "Sit!" I command. Mulder freezes in place with an obedience that Queequeg never quite managed, and I head for the door, noticing through the window that there is a courier van parked out at the curb. I find a male courier on the doorstep, who is holding a beautifully wrapped box firmly in one hand and a clipboard in the other. "Delivery for a Mr Mulder?" "I'm here! Give my wife the box and me the invoice, please." Mulder is waving his left hand frantically from his sofa. Too bad he couldn't wield his pillow that effectively earlier. I block the courier from entering the room. "He's got the flu. Stay there. I'll give him the clipboard and bring it back over. I promise I won't look." The man hesitates for a moment, then nods and hands the paperwork and pen over. Within thirty seconds I return the clipboard, and the man carefully hands over the rectangular box, and departs. This has obviously already been paid for. I turn to Mulder. He has made room for me on the sofa and pats the space with his hands. I sit down next to him with the box in my lap. "It's my wedding present to you," Mulder explains. "Open it." The curled ribbons prove resistant, but eventually I have them and the paper off and am facing a box made of smooth white cardboard. I lift the lid and find a heap of packing material: foam, bubble wrap, then upon discarding those, tissue paper. I part two folds of tissue paper and reveal a statue. "Oh," I gasp. After a moment I reach in and gently lift it out of its nest, ignoring a stray piece of paper which clings on between my fingers. I am holding a nine inch statue of an elderly man who is sitting in an armchair. There is a little girl in his lap, and they are reading a book. The figures have been cast and finished in such a way that there is no great detail to the scene, to the clothing or armchair, however that makes it perfect, because the viewer can fill in those details. It is the universal grandfather and grandchild, separated by the generations, yet linked. I remember back to all those times that Ahab and I acted out this scenario. Reading was our special shared pastime. Or 'quality time', to use that horrible modern phrase. Melissa preferred to go on walks with him at sunrise. Charlie and Bill liked all the war stuff, the model building, etc. Other hobbies came and went, but reading was the constant, for me at least. Passages from 'Moby Dick' come back to me, both in my young voice and in Ahab's voice. And many other stories. I see myself and him in his armchair. And the figure of me easily slips into that of Emily. Yes, picturing her that way is so right. That is her place, regardless of how confused my family and my emotions are in regard her existence. I feel something heal in me that I didn't even know was damaged. The statue is still in my hands, but I can't make it out as clearly now because I am crying. Good tears though, like at the blessing of our rings, something which I'm sure Mulder knows. I set the statue down in my lap and raise a hand to wipe my eyes, and Mulder puts a tissue in it, but reaches over with his good hand to stroke the liquid away with his thumbs. I laugh and look down at the statue again because I am overwhelmed and happy. The features of the grandfather and child's face are clearly those of contentment. "Mulder... Fox. Thank you. This is beautiful. It's perfect. But how -?" My voice cracks. My husband names a shopping mall in the city. "I was there in December, looking for something for my mother, and happened to see a collection of statues in the window of a gift shop. One statue was of a grandmother and child, and I wanted to go in and ask about a grandfather version for you, but I already had your Christmas present and I was thinking about getting it for your birthday, but then my phone went off and we had another case. And I had been a bit hestitant about getting it, because I didn't know if you would... I only just thought of it again when you told me what day it was today, and I didn't feel as unsure. So I phoned the store and asked them. Yes, there was a grandfather version, but they didn't have one in. They would check their other stores and get back to me. I got lucky." I lean forward to put the statue on the coffee table so that I can throw my arms around my husband and thank him more, but then I carefully tilt the statue so that I can have a look underneath. I gasp. "What's wrong?" "No, it's not wrong. It's just... The artist's name is Christine Lexington. Christine was Emily's middle name. Lexington is the name of the ship that was Ahab's first command as Captain. It was his favourite..." Mulder is looking at me worriedly, awed by the 'coincidence', but clearly wondering if I think that is a good thing. "It's a very good thing," I say, and take him in my arms. "It's a wonderful thing. Thank you." After a long embrace, I pull back and look at him. He definitely feels hot and he's trying to surpress a cough. "Come on, back to bed." He gives a loaded comeback, but is too tired to do it even verbal justice. As he climbs into bed, I ponder out loud about what I am going to get him as a wedding present in return. "My wedding present is all the care you're giving me." "No. That's what a couple does for each other all year round. It's what I can finally let myself give you without excuses or hiding. I'll come up with something else." "Dana?" "Yes?" Eyes closed, Mulder asks, "What is a woman like you doing with such a big bed like this?" I give an evil grin. "All the better to have you in. Good prior planning and a wee bit of hope." He cracks open one eye. "And I filled it nicely?" "Oh, you filled it very nicely." I'll tell him about his role in the measuring process one day soon. He'll love it. And one day soon we'll discuss the issue of children, but not just now. I make some soup and get it into him, then have a bowl for my late lunch. He is sleeping again when I bring a chair into the room so I can sit and watch him, just like years ago. So much has changed in us and between us since that night, but even just last week we were still shying away from a lot of issues, before Mulder took the gamble and leapt us past them. I have to be honest: I love Mulder, I have for so long. But if he had have been more traditional in his method and length of courting, I would have had time to hesitate and consider all the myriad of doubts and problems and issues and probably even my cowardliness, and backed off. Run away. My heart broken, but believing it was the best thing. It wasn't. This is. What am I talking about length of courting for? Our courting process went on for seven years! xXx Wednesday morning: I wake up and for a moment am very disorientated. Mulder and I were making love... The realization hits me that I had been dreaming it. If I can't get it physically, my subconscious is determined to get some this way. Damn, that was good. Then I realize that the heat I am feeling is a fever of my own, and that a splitting headache is finally catching my attention. Now Mulder and I have matching Y2K bugs. At least his is looking like it is on the way out. It soon transpires that my dose is milder than my husband's, to our joint relief. My immune system had been in better shape than his. We both take care of each other, though there are one or two fights over the last tissue in the box and who should get up to fetch another box. "I will!" "You will not. You're sicker than me. I'm fine!" And so on. xXx Saturday 8th January: Time to celebrate our one-week anniversary today. Mulder's stitches will be able to come out in the next two to three days. We are both over the worst of the flu, though Mulder still needs a lot of sleep. I enter the front door of my - our - apartment. Mulder sits up from napping on the sofa. He stretches one-armed and yawns. God, he looks sexy even when he's pale. "How did shopping go?" "Pretty well." I put down the bag of his clothes that I got from his apartment. "I think I've worked out what to get you for a wedding present, but I won't be able to give it to you for a few more weeks." "Not even a clue?" "Nope." I bring some grocery bags in. Mulder ambles over for a kiss and to help me unpack. He notices a bag from my favourite bookstore. "What did you get? That latest forensic pathologist mystery so you can check the accuracy?" "Have a look." He puts down the milk and pulls out my purchase. His eyebrows raise. "The Updated, Equal Opportunity, Fully Illustrated and Expanded Kama Sutra? Are you sure that THIS isn't your wedding present to me?" "I have just cause for such a book now. While you still have the stitches, it can give us some more ideas for how to vary things a little and be a useful future resource." I think back to when I went out this morning. My 'To Do' list: Mulder's clothes, milk, bread, eggs, Kama Sutra. Mulder opens the book at random and peers at a position that seems to call on both participants to act like land crabs. "When can we test it out?" "Tonight. I think we'll be both ready for more action than just sneezing and sleeping. We can celebrate our anniversary." "Another way to celebrate is if we go shopping this afternoon." "For what? I've got the groceries." He picks up my left hand and rubs the base of my ring finger. I find myself swaying closer to him, like a cobra under the influence of the snake charmer. "Ah, but I owe you an engagement ring, Dana. A rock. The 'something new'. Something that is just us and shared, because we've already got the past right here." He indicates my mother's and father's wedding rings. "That sounds like a good idea. I think you can cope with an excursion." And he doesn't have to wear the sling anymore. His arm had not been broken or sprained on New Year's Eve, just lacerated and needing stitches, and the sling had helped at the start to alleviate any swelling or pain. Now he can straighten the arm without discomfort and use it, providing he doesn't try to pitch a fastball or anything like that. For once he's being careful - he doesn't want anything to delay getting those stitches out so we can get the green light to really go to town. I leave Mulder assembling sandwiches with already pre-cut contents while I take his bag into the bedroom and unpack it. Most of the bulk is his leather jacket. I finger it. I love seeing him in it. I hope I can restrain myself at the mall while he's wandering around in it and those tight jeans I bought him... Perhaps too much of a combination to stand? Then I get an idea. I hesitate over instigating it. After all, lunch will be ready soon. But it's not like sandwiches will go cold - right? xXx We are just pulling out of our parking space at the mall. Mission accomplished: I am now wearing the 'something blue'. The beautiful sapphire sparkles on my hand, chaperoned on each side by smaller diamonds. Mulder wanted something that would match my eyes. We have also covered the 'something borrowed'. Mulder is sitting in the passenger seat, wearing his leather jacket as I steer us back into the D.C. traffic, but I borrowed that jacket a few hours ago, without him knowing. Well, he didn't know until I teamed it with a pair of black high-top stockings, heavy black eyeliner and nothing else and then came back out of the bedroom to show him. I seem to have overcome my shyness. He dropped the glass of juice he was holding, a reaction I was pleased with, considering that on me the jacket reached the tops of my knees, and within five seconds we were right back in that bedroom. It was more than five days since we banged the bedstead - it felt more like five years if you ask me - so we were more than ready. The Kama Sutra wasn't required. "You know, Scully, I had been tired of you wearing black all the time. But after what you wore at noon and what it led to, don't stop." The rough tone in his voice is like an intimate verbal caress. "Well, I don't want to set anything off when we're in the middle of a case!" Ten minutes later, Mulder eyes an upcoming exit ramp. "Hey, why don't we drop in on the guys for a little?" He'd rather go visit the Lone Gunmen than take me to bed? I don't get it. Then I do. The Gunmen don't know yet. He wants to let them know just how much he's scored. And so do I. Soon Frohike is letting us into the inner sanctum. Mulder cautions him from a hearty slap of greeting, in case Frohike scores the wrong arm. "Stitches." "What the hell did you do to yourself this time, G-man?" "Zombie tried to treat my arm like a turkey leg. He must have missed Christmas dinner." Frohike nods, unperturbed. Then he looks closely at my face. "Scully, you look different. Is that a new hairstyle?" Yeah. All that tossing about in the throes of passion seems to have done something to my hair that no blow dryer has ever managed. It goes even beyond pillow hair. The strands have gone wavy, almost curly. Well, what Mulder does to me - what we do to me - curls my toes and my fingers against the sheets, so why not my hair? 'Just been shagged'. My locks have relaxed from their usual stiff restraint, just like I have. "My weekend carefree look," I say, keeping my hands in the pockets of my jacket. We don't want to give the game away just yet. Byers and Langly appear. Don't these guys ever go home? Frohike cautions them on Mulder's latest injury. "We need something amazing for the next issue. Anything popping up in the files?" Langly asks hopefully. "We're on mandatory leave for bagging a few zombies on New Year's Eve. So nothing at the moment," Mulder explains. Byers gives him a look of sympathy. A not-working Mulder is a bored Mulder. Or was. "You must be bored stiff." I nearly swallow my tongue. He's half right. Boy, a bit of sex has really lubricated my innuendo gland. "You could say that. Actually, I've been flat on my back... Flu." Mulder sits down in a swivel chair, deadpan, while I fight to keep my composure. I perch primly on the desk next to him. "Millennium bug, huh? Boy, you're having a rotten start to the year." Frohike shakes his head. Mulder replies, "It's had its moments." I wonder if he's going to casually drop Frank Black's name into the conversation. The guys must have heard of him. But we're here to announce what happened AFTER the zombiefest, not during it. "Want anything to drink? Eat?" Byers is a good host. We decline. Frohike wants to show us the civilisation he built in the game 'Age of Empires'. He bustles to an adjoining computer desk and turns it on. I give Mulder's chair a push so that he swivels around and is now facing me. I toe off my left shoe and stretch my leg out so that my stocking foot is rubbing up and down his leg. His eyes are locked with mine. The air crackles. I hear a faint squeak - but it could be one of the Gunmen, it could be Mulder or me, or it could be from the chair. Who cares? I say, "Actually, I *am* hungry." Mulder raises an eyebrow. "For what?" "Something not in the kitchen." I lean forwards. I reach out my right hand and touch the middle of Mulder's chest, his t-shirt. I walk my fingers upwards and lean over more and more, now staring fixedly at his lips. My fingers come up over his chin and do a circuit of his lips. Suddenly he catches one digit and sucks on it for a second before letting go. I hear something crash to the floor. It sounds like a body. "Mulder... Foxxxxxxx..." My voice is all throat. I play with his collar. "The boys have camp beds back there somewhere, don't they? They wouldn't mind us borrowing them for ten minutes, do you think? I've just got to have you. Now." My lips are so close to his. We can hear the Gunmen holding their breath. Another millimetre and... We crack up. I have to get a look at their expressions. I just have to. I think the phrase is 'stunned mullets'. Frohike and Langly are practically holding each other upright. Byers nearly swallows his beard, then quickly recovers his dignity. "Nice joke. You really had us going." Langly shakes his head in regret and amusement. "Damn, I thought we had our front cover and full page spread there." I turn back to Mulder. "Let's put them out of their misery, shall we?" "C'mere, wife." Mulder manfully pulls me into his lap and we lock lips. My left hand is cupping his cheek. When we come up for air, Langly is staring at the rings as if hypnotised by the sparkle, Frohike is staring at us like we've grown extra heads, and Byers is looking anywhere but at us, not because he's embarrassed, I think, but more likely desperate for any form of camera that he can lay his hands on for definitive proof of the scoop of the millennium. Frohike is the first to recover enough to speak. "I knew she looked different! She's HAPPY! I mean...not that you weren't... Um..." "I am happy, Frohike. Very much so." A round of back-slaps, left-handed shakes and a few hugs ensue. Byers disappears and comes back a few minutes later with a tray. It bears orange juice and four champagne flutes. He gives an apologetic look as he fills the flutes up and hands them around. "Tomorrow's shopping day. Plus I wasn't sure if Mulder was still on meds?" "Orange juice is fine. Nothing about this marriage has so far been conventional," I remark, but not with any bitterness. Frohike tilts his head at Mulder. "Vegas?" My husband gives him a wounded look. "Credit me with some class, guys. Connecticut." "Awww, you did the eve of the Millennium thing, didn't you?" Frohike says, looking half pleased, half wistful. "Nearly. Midnight was special enough." I add, "We're going to hold a reception sometime soon. After we've told Skinner. You three will receive invitations. We might renew our vows then too." Mulder nods, but he's more distracted by my hair. He's noticed the wave too. Perhaps that's through him running his fingers through it so much. Or all the humidity from us panting up the bedroom. "Why didn't you guys tell us sooner?" Langly asks. Frohike elbows him. "They're on their honeymoon. They were probably BUSY!" As Mulder and I sit close together, Byers holds his glass up high. He looks at us with pride. He is a very articulate man, and he loves talking for hours about subjects that even my partner runs out of steam on after an hour. This should be an interesting speech. "Dana and Fox, Mulder and Scully - it's about time!" With that, he drains the glass. I stare. "That's it?" He shrugs as he pours himself a refill. "We're supposed to take amazing things in our stride as a matter of course. I suppose I could go on about how I'm glad this is one 'extreme possibility' that finally came true, especially after years of calling each other by your surnames." "Yeah," Langly chimes in. "It's about time you two let Dana and Fox out." "Fox in, more like," I reply with a leer, and have the immense satisfaction of seeing four men choke on their drinks at once. Ahab would be proud. THE END