ONLY THE FAITHFUL ENDURE
by Blackwood    
entreamis@yahoo.com

RATING:     PG13
CATEGORY:   MSR, UST, Fill-ins for Per Manum, all things
SPOILERS:   Do virgin philes still exist? 
ARCHIVE:    With intact header and a note to me.
SUMMARY:    Miracles don't always appear that way when you receive them.
DISCLAIMER: No animals were harmed during the making of this fanfic.

~*~*~*~

At noon, the snow turned to mist and drizzle.  At dusk, it 
stopped and temperatures plummeted.  Now, moonlight glistens off 
icy surfaces while icicles dangle from the eaves, deadly and 
beautiful.  The calendar may say it's the first day of Spring, 
but winter's grip is fierce and unrelenting in the northwoods of 
Boundary County, Idaho.

Standing beside the window, Scully watches an irregular path of 
moisture zigzag down the pane until it melds with a second larger 
track, gathering speed and strength along the way until it splits 
again, scarring the frosty glass in rivulets.  She understands 
the necessity of isolation, but she yearns for familiar faces.  
Her breath fogs the glass and with a single finger, she reaches 
out and traces two hearts, writing the names "Will" and "Emily" 
in the open spaces.

She knows her son's caretakers are good people who will give him 
what he needs.  She conjures his memory, but all she can recall 
is the smallness of his body against her shoulder and the rasp of 
his cry.  Another face comes to mind: that of a little girl with 
saucer eyes and a sweet smile.  She tries to imagine Emily and 
William together, but the images are coated with rime, like the 
glass before her.

She's lost much, but not everything.  She turns towards the 
drowsing figure on the battered sofa.  Flames flicker in the 
wood-stove, casting warmth and dancing shadows onto a threadbare 
braided rug and the back of the man she long ago committed 
herself to loving.  A single kerosene lantern sits on the rustic 
kitchen table, lighting the remnants of a simple meal.  A sharp 
wind rattles the walls and the figure stirs before settling 
again.

There hadn't been time to take even a single photo.  She regrets 
that, especially for Mulder.  He'd known his son for so short a 
time before he left to do what they believed was necessary.  They 
live a quiet life now, rarely speaking of the past.  Still, there 
are words that she will never forget.  Spread across the years of 
their life together -- hurting or healing, ripe with blame or 
blessed with absolution.  Words haunt her.  Mere words, as Mr. 
Chung quoted; yet how powerful they could be...

"I look forward to working with you/Oh, isn't it nice to be 
suddenly so wanted?  This work is my life/And it's become mine.  
I have cancer/I can't accept that.  You're making this 
personal/Because it is personal.  You were my constant/And you 
are mine.  It was my last chance/Never give up on a miracle."
Her reverie stalls at that particular phrase.

Dr. Parenti's ultimate prognosis seared her with its finality.  
"I'm very sorry, Dana," he consoled. "There's nothing more I can 
do.  You can adopt, of course.  I can make some recommendations."
Slipping on the well-worn mask of implacability, she replied, 
"Thank you.  I'll think about it," but the words rang hollow.
She entered her car and placed the key in the ignition.  Pulling 
out her phone, she pressed the memory button for her mother, but 
disconnected at first ring.  Mom would be strong, but bad news 
could wait.  Placing the phone back into her pocket, she started 
home. 

It wasn't until she found herself at a traffic signal, with the 
Hoover in plain sight, that she realized her lack of attention.  
Instead of turning homeward, she meandered through the heart of 
D.C.  Driving past monuments that symbolized strength, she felt 
only frailty.  She was barren, unqualified for the most distinct 
female function.  Accomplishments faded in the glaring 
realization that her body was nothing but a shell that once 
harbored the potential for new life, but now sheltered naught but 
her own breath and bone.  It should be enough, but it isn't.

With self-pity free-floating, she brooded over the choices that 
had brought her to this point.  Ethan had been her best chance at 
a so-called normal life, but their relationship ended when they 
both realized that she was still in love with Daniel.  He was a 
drug she just couldn't kick, even in absentia.  She tried dating, 
but it lacked appeal.  Intimacy was placed on a back-burner as 
she told herself that celibacy was doable, maybe even preferred.  
As for Mulder, of course she loved him.  She just wasn't "in 
love" with him.

It was dark by the time she stood before the entry to her 
apartment.  She squared her shoulders, but they sagged under the 
weight of the news she was delivering to the man who waited 
within.  She never allowed Mulder to accompany her, though he 
always suggested it.  They'd trodden this path twice before, each 
time without success.  Each time, the sting of failure was 
soothed by take-out, a video and a reminder that there were still 
viable ova in storage.

Hope was now replaced by cold reality and an anticipated awkward 
silence. She readied herself for the former and rehearsed remarks 
for the latter. Her plan dissolved at the sound of his voice, 
soft with understanding. "It didn't take, did it?"

"I guess it was too much to hope for."  Her lip quivered and her 
knees felt weak.  She wavered for only a second, but he was 
there, arms supporting her trembling figure.  There, in the 
shelter of his embrace, she shattered.  "It was my last chance," 
she managed to say before falling mute in a flush of grief so 
keen it stole her breath.

She felt his kiss on her brow.  "Never give up on a miracle," he 
declared, his forehead touching hers.

She reached up and kissed his cheek before embracing him again.  
She took another full breath, feeling somewhat calmer.  "Do you 
really believe that?"

"I want to believe," he said.  No one but a trained observer 
would have heard the hint of desperation in his voice.  Scully 
pulled back.  Intuition was never her strong suit, but she *was* 
a keen investigator.

"Even now, after everything we've been through, everything we've 
seen and heard -- how?"  At that, he averted his eyes, his 
thoughts elsewhere.

"Maybe," he said at last, "it's because of what I've seen."  He 
paused.  "What I know."

Apprehension chilled her.  "What do you mean, what you know?  
Mulder, is there something else you haven't told me?  Something 
about my ova, or--"

"No," he interrupted, meeting her worried gaze with a small 
smile.  "No. It's gonna be okay," he reassured, giving her a 
brief hug before releasing her.  She remained in place, disturbed 
by his words.  He, on the other hand, was already on the phone.  
"You want veggies or, uh," he grimaced, "that tofu stuff?"

"You decide," she responded, unmoving.  He would tell her what 
was on his mind when he was ready, wouldn't he?  Or, maybe it was 
just the day's events.  She removed her coat, laying it across 
the back of a chair.  Crossing to the sofa, she sat down with a 
sigh, circling fingers to her now aching temples.  She heard a 
cabinet door swing open, the click and rattle of a plastic 
container and the subsequent running of the tap.  Coming to stand 
beside her, Mulder waited until she accepted the proffered pills 
and washed them down.  His silent attentiveness gave comfort.

He moved to the bookshelves then, scanning the contents.  "Let's 
see..." he murmured.  "'Breakfast at Tiffany's,' 'Steel 
Magnolias,' 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame?'"  He turned to look at 
her with arched brows.

"It's a romance, Mulder."

"So is 'Chicken Run,' but I don't want to watch it over and 
over."

"This is my house, remember?"

"So, 'Die Hard with a Vengeance' isn't kept in a shoe box 
somewhere for secret thrills?"

"Not unless you put it there." 

He gave her a sideways smile and slipped the video into the 
player.  The story began and he returned to his usual short 
distance from her at the left end of the sofa.  His shift in mood 
seemed genuine and Scully finally relaxed, allowing the meds to 
take effect.  Upon first sight of the hunchback, Mulder jibed, 
"This guy doesn't stand a chance.  You know that."

She finally smiled. For a while they watched in silence, 
interrupted only by the arrival of dinner and the occasional 
smart-ass remark.  The black and white images flickered on the 
screen, engaging Scully with its tale of the ancient cathedral 
and its misunderstood inhabitant who loves the beautiful gypsy 
girl from afar, uncertain of his worthiness until forced to prove 
his mettle in the face of her demise.  With her face still facing 
the screen, she says, "I've been selfish."

"It's just ibuprofen and a movie, Scully.  No biggie."

Grabbing the remote, she turned the volume down before turning 
back.  "I'm saying I'm sorry."

"For?"

She looked down at her body, hand on her belly.  With focus fixed 
there, she continued, "Mulder, I've been going through these 
procedures, putting my body through a pharmaceutical marathon, 
hoping for that miracle you talk about."

"I get that."

She met his gaze. "I know what science says is possible.  I 
believe in its methods.  But I was also raised to believe that 
true faith can move mountains."

"And you no longer believe that?"

"I'm not sure what I believe."

"Chaos is the beginning of Wisdom," he quoted from The Lonely 
Buddha.

She was surprised he knew the book so well.  "You may be right," 
she admitted.

"I may be crazy," he reminded.

Together, they concluded, "But it just might be a lunatic you're 
looking for."  They chuckled together and she felt somewhat 
better.

"How's the headache?"

"I'm fine."

"There *are* other options, y'know.  Discoveries are being made 
every day."

"No, Mulder.  This is the end for me.  I can't do this again."  
It wasn't true, but it was accurate.  "When I was told there was 
a chance some of my ova might be viable, I put my faith in 
science.  But each time the procedure failed, I blamed God.  I 
blamed circumstance.  I even blamed you."  He said nothing, but 
his gaze was guarded.  "You once said that you owed me and part 
of me believed it.  I believed it about this, anyway.  You sensed 
that.  You had reservations from the start, yet you still said 
'yes.'  Why?"

He bit the inside of his mouth and looked pensive.  Finally, he 
said, "My reservations at the time don't matter."

She leaned towards him, keeping his gaze.  "I know you signed the 
donor agreement half-heartedly.  It couldn't have been easy 
giving up your rights as a parent."

"I thought it was what you wanted."  His voice held a trace of 
frustration.  "I know how important this baby that might-have-
been was to you." 

"Mulder, this baby that might-have-been wasn't just mine."  She 
reached for his hand lying on the cushion between them.  She 
gently squeezed it and added, "No matter what the papers said, it 
was ours."

He looked away, mouth pursed.  She noted the steady twitch in his 
jaw.  His barely audible, "Yeah" spoke volumes. 

The truth was out there, wonderful and terrible.  When he met her 
eyes again, she saw the hurt he'd worked to conceal from her 
earlier.  When he wrapped his fingers around her hand to pull her 
closer, she did not resist.  Moving into the crook of his 
encircling arm, she laid her head against his inside shoulder, 
gaze outward.  They held one another in silence, discrete 
thoughts unified in sorrow.

Her gaze moved randomly until settling on the still-playing film.  
Esmerelda was bound, being led to a scaffold, condemned for a 
crime she didn't commit.  Quasimodo watched from the bell tower, 
horrified.  Like an optical illusion in flux, the plight of the 
doomed pair strangely resonated in her mind.  Faculties sharpened 
and she became aware of her hip against his thigh, his arms 
supporting her, the softness of his sweater against her cheek.

Mulder was no Quasimodo and the chemistry between them had always 
been present.  But that had been the point, right?  Sexual 
intimacy was precisely what Blevins had planned.  When Tom 
Colton tossed the moniker "Mrs. Spooky" her way, Scully knew what 
people were thinking.  She wasn't a prude, but the thought so 
galled her that she determined never to go down that path.  
Attractive as Mulder was, there were other men available with 
less baggage and better prospects.

Instead, a genuine friendship developed where she didn't expect 
it.  Imagine that.  Sometimes, she regretted not being able to 
indulge in the occasional, non-committal booty call, but she knew 
she couldn't deal with the aftermath.  As friends, their 
differences were tolerable.  As lovers, it could all implode, her 
ability to protect the work and the man she'd come to respect, 
lost.

Besides, true intimacy required honesty and trust, and although 
she trusted him, she hadn't been honest.  He obsessed about 
truth, yet she kept him in the dark about her deepest feelings.  
His reaction at her admission of anger over her infertility was 
incentive enough to keep the rest of her feelings tucked safely 
away.  But her abductions, her illness, Melissa's death, even the 
rift with her brother -- she held Mulder responsible to some 
degree.  The waters were just too muddy for her to navigate, so 
she bottled up her guilt and anger, hoping it would dissipate 
over time.

Scully wanted to see his face, but it meant leaving his arms.   
So, instead, she leaned up and kissed his cheek, then beside his 
mouth.  As she pulled away, he turned towards her with intent.  
There was only a moment of indecision.  Then his lips touched 
hers, soft with promise and warm with emotion.

More than chaste and less than passionate, it was a kiss that 
eased her pain.  Her brain was demanding 'Voulez vous,?' while 
the unexpected rise of her pulse answered.  She could surrender 
to sensation, but she just wasn't that spontaneous.  When she 
began to pull away, he murmured, "Stay," at her temple.
His kisses continued, feather-light and undemanding, across her 
cheek to the hollow of her neck, kindling a slow burn in its path 
while on the television screen the hunchback carried his beloved 
to safety claiming sanctuary and Scully understood, for the first 
time, how the definition of that word could mean not a structure 
of stone and glass, but a man of flesh and blood.

It had been a long time since a man had held her this way and she 
wanted these feelings to go on.  She craved the emotional 
intimacy he provided in her life and knew he felt the same.  Yet, 
crossing the threshold of physical intimacy still frightened her.  
"Stop," she whispered, regretting the word even as she spoke it.

"Let me..." he murmured and she could almost hear his unspoken 
'in' at the end of his supplication.

She shook her head. "We can't do this."  She pulled away and rose 
from the sofa.  She crossed to where her coat was, retrieving her 
phone from her coat pocket.  As she dialed, she heard him putting 
on his jacket and the entry door unlock.

"It'll never be right, will it?"  The edge of anger was in his 
voice.

"Dana?"  Her mom had picked up.

"Can you hang on a second?" Scully asked her, then turned to find 
Mulder.  Only, he was already gone.  "Oh, mom," she sighed into 
the phone.  On screen, the hunchback wept.

~*~*~*~
So much has happened since.  Her memories of joy are scattered, 
but precious; enough to sustain.  She harbors no false 
expectations of achieving her fondest wish.  William is safe with 
his adoptive family and she will never again risk his well-being.

She turns her head back to look outside again.  All but the 
deepest shadows are softened by moonlight.  Her eyes take in the 
empty dirt road that slides into the trees at the edge of the 
clearing. It will twist several times before hitting the asphalt 
that flows down the mountain into Gatts, the small town they call 
home.

The space beside the road is covered by a mantle of mottled 
white, muddy patches peeking through a slow thaw.  In summer, 
wildflowers bloom there and they often spread a blanket, lying 
side by side to gaze at the stars.  Sometimes, they make love.  
She and Mulder make love.  No one is more pleased by the fact 
than she, especially when she considers the source of the 
shift... 
  
She'd once heard that when one was ready to learn a life lesson, 
the teacher appeared.  Enter Daniel Waterston -- or reenter, to 
be precise.  She never expected to see him again, yet there he 
was, lying in a hospital bed.  Even ill, he was a commanding 
figure.
  
His easy intimacies beguiled, even as the revelation of his 
unannounced proximity for the last ten years burned.  No other 
man but Ahab held such sway over her.  Yet before she could 
explore what it meant, Daniel crashed.  Using every ounce of the 
skills he'd taught her, Scully stabilized his failing body, or so 
she believed.

She didn't sleep well that night, her mind enveloped in a loop of
memory that was singularly hers.  Their affair had been 
clandestine.  Daniel was the mentor, she the protege.  She told 
herself that if no one knew, no one would be hurt.  He gave her 
license to explore the limits of her sexuality and she imagined 
he would change his life for her.  When she realized he wouldn't, 
she ended it, leaving conventional medicine to make a difference 
with the Bureau.  But the past had, at long last, caught up with 
her and the consequences of her indiscretion flared in the fury 
of a betrayed daughter's eyes.  She needed to, wanted to make 
amends.  But how?

Staring blankly at the computer screen at 2 a.m., she glanced 
over to the stack of papers she'd received from Colleen Azar.  On 
top lay the photo of the heart chakra crop circle.  The image 
haunted her.  She typed the word 'chakra' into her browser and 
spent the next four hours immersed in the world of alternative 
medicine.  One link led to another.  The more she learned, the 
more questions she had.  Finally, as daylight overtook darkness, 
so fatigue overtook her.  She napped on the sofa until ten, then 
showered and changed.  She knew who might have answers.

Stepping across the threshold of the healing center, she felt 
like a dubious pilgrim.  Inside, she discovered an interior space 
filled with symbolism and beauty.  Even the rain falling outside 
felt tranquil.  And, as she listened to Colleen's words, she felt 
a clearing emerge where there was none before.  "Everything 
happens for a reason," she was told.

Scully sipped her tea.  "So, you're saying that there are no 
coincidences."

"Only the appearance of coincidence.  Have you ever noticed that 
once you begin to dwell on something, things begin to show up in 
your life to add to the inner dialogue?"

"Like suddenly seeing meaning in things you hadn't before?"

"Exactly."

"I've had experiences like that," Scully responded, remembering 
the way the pony-tailed woman looked at her after her near-
accident with the car.

"We all do.  It's evidence."

"Evidence.  Of what?"

"Our thoughts manifesting reality."

"You make it sound like we can play God."

"I don't mean to sound flippant, but from a certain perspective, 
we do."  She paused, then asked, "Do you pray?"

Colleen's sincerity disarmed Scully and she paused to consider 
the question.  "Sometimes."

"Some call it wishful thinking, but most religions teach prayer 
as a spiritual discipline.  What's interesting is that most 
people who pray believe that their intentions are heard by an 
external being who decides their fate, either objectively or 
based on some moral principle.  Yet, you can also view prayer as 
a form of focused thought that can influence events or as access 
to the divine self."

"Are you referring to positive thinking?"

"That's one perspective, but there are others."  Colleen set her 
cup down and walked to one of the bookshelves.  Pulling a slim 
paperback from the case, she held it out.

"What is that?"

"Something you might find useful."

She didn't want to be rude, but all at once, Scully felt 
threatened by the concepts presented.  "Ms. Azar, I just wanted 
to apologize and to ask a few questions.  I'm not looking to be 
counseled or healed."

"Yet here you are.  And please, call me Colleen." 
 
"Colleen...thank you for listening today, but I really should 
go."  Scully set down her own cup and headed towards the door.

"It's often true that what we can see so easily in others, we 
fail to recognize in ourselves."

Standing at the door, with her back towards the woman, Scully 
paused.  "What are you saying?"

"That you also carry pain and you'd like to be clear of it."  
Scully sighed aloud, but said nothing.  "Your friend in the 
hospital.  Is he the source of it?"

"He's...a part of it."

"There are things unsaid, issues left unresolved."

"Mmm...yes."  She felt awkward, found out, glad to be facing 
away.

Colleen was nonplused.  "Relationships are complicated.  We get 
upset with others, with ourselves, when we allow the past to 
control the present.  Thwarted intentions, unfulfilled 
expectations, even words left unsaid can keep us frozen in place.  
In fear.  We live our lives out of sheer will and lose touch with 
what we desire."  Scully turned at that and looked into the eyes 
of the healer.  Expecting judgment, she found only compassion.  
"What do you want?" Colleen asked.

It was the second time in as many days that someone had asked 
Scully the question.  "I want--" she began, then paused.  Sitting 
with Daniel, she thought she wanted the life she didn't choose, 
but now she hesitated.  There were many things unsaid between 
them.  Then, there was Maggie...and Mulder.  "I thought I knew," 
she replied, at last.

"And now you're not so sure.  That's a good place to start."

Scully wasn't as certain.  Colleen walked over and held out the 
book.  Scully took it and glanced at the title, surprised to see 
it was written by a physician.  As Colleen swung open the heavy 
front door, she tucked it into her inside coat pocket.  Sunlight 
poured onto the porch while a gentle breeze sounded the chimes.  
Colleen's hand grasped Scully's in parting.  "The answers are 
inside you already.  Just look."  Then she smiled and closed the 
door.

The connections were still oblique, but Scully knew she would 
have no peace until she took responsibility for her role in 
Daniel's troubled family dynamics.  She wasn't in love with him, 
not any longer; but she needed to apologize for walking out.  She 
purchased flowers at the hospital's gift shop.  They were the 
color of life, a blood offering to atone for her sins.  As she 
walked through the double doors leading to the Cardiac wing, she 
was confronted by Maggie Waterson.

Maggie's judgments flayed her professionally and personally, 
killing off the possibility of conciliation.  Scully felt hurt, 
but deserving of the assault.  She couldn't see Daniel like this.  
She took to the streets, her focus cornered by odd bits and 
pieces whose meaning hovered beyond her ability to integrate.  
She was a trained investigator, but she was failing at the most 
important mystery of all -- her life.

When she spotted the pony-tailed woman a second time, she felt 
compelled to speak with her.  Giving chase, she followed the 
figure through a simple-hewn door that led to a small, well-kept 
garden.  She thought, at first, that it was a residence, but when 
she tested the inner door, she found it unlocked.  Stepping 
inside, she found herself in the sacred presence of a 
bodhisattva.

The power of the place was overwhelming and she was vulnerable.  
In supplication, she surrendered self-sufficiency and simply 
asked for help.  All at once, she was standing at the center of a 
celestial mandala, arms radiating to infinity.  The wheel turned, 
gaining momentum, images of people and places in her life 
streaming through her mind until settling, at last, on the form 
of a prone Daniel, body translucent with light, yet stricken 
powerless; his heart dark with disease.  When he opened vacant 
eyes, she was jarred back into her senses.  Only, somehow, they 
were different, heightened.
   
Standing there, she could feel a surge of energy filling her 
body.  Beginning with the soles of her feet, heat suffused every 
molecule of her being until it seemed as if she must be radiating 
beams of light from every pore, but especially from the top of 
her head which she imagined must be surrounded by a halo.  
Scarlet blooms fell to the ground as she lifted her hands towards 
the golden icon, palms down, fingertips outstretched, watching in 
wonder as rays of light streamed from them in all directions.

Carried by the vision, she felt the room around her fade away 
until she was surrounded by space so enormous she could not hold 
its image.  It was vast and comprehensive, beautiful beyond 
description, and within it was contained all creation -- every 
molecule of every piece of matter -- organic and inorganic -- 
every thought, every emotion, every action taken by every 
creature and object she understood as Real, and more.  The past, 
the present and the future were all contained within the One, 
just as she was now contained there, blessed to be able to 
experience this connection, if only once and never again, 
blessed.
  
For only a moment, she stepped back in her mind to observe the 
phenomena she was experiencing and in that moment, the feeling 
faded, quickly and irrevocably.  She felt the ground beneath her 
feet, solid and unmoving; the air around her warm, scented with 
spice; the flickering candlelight punctuated by shafts of 
sunlight falling through the latticed ceiling above.  The statue 
before her was only a man-made object and she was only a human 
being, wholly back in the tangible world, but never again the same.

She sat in the outer garden for some time, feeling her heartbeat 
slow and her breathing return to normal.  She had tasted the 
unity among all things and she saw the world and herself through 
new eyes.  She knew what she must to do to complete her past with 
Daniel.  But what of her future?  What of Mulder?  She understood 
now that in his human-ness, he had acted as he thought best.  And 
what of her own reticence?  Well, she was human, too.  She 
remembered the book, then, and pulled it from her pocket.  It was 
penned by a respected M.D. named Dossey, a Western practitioner 
who now espoused prayer and intention alongside drugs and 
surgery.  "Healing Words," proclaimed the title.  Synchronicity 
hit home.  

Later, watching the energy healer with Daniel, Scully felt like 
an intern again, eager to help but lacking skill.  That could, 
and would, change.  Making peace with Maggie was more difficult, 
but with Colleen as mediator, they found common ground.  Having 
acted from a place of love, Scully felt her integrity restored, a 
weight lifted from her psyche.  When Maggie left the small 
conference room they occupied, she turned to Colleen who sat 
across from her at the round table.  "I need your help with 
something else," she said.  Colleen waited.  "There's someone 
else in my life with whom I haven't been completely honest," she 
said.

"Man or woman?"

"Definitely a man," she opined, her attitude revealing the nature 
of her feelings. She smiled, then, suddenly shy.

"S'ok," Colleen reassured, chin resting on her hand.  "Do you 
love him?"

"Yes," she replied at once, "I do."

"Does he feel the same?"

"I think so."

"Then let that guide you.  Forgive yourself, Dana.  It's time."  
A tear slipped down Sculy's cheek.  Colleen rose and rounded the 
table.  Scully stood up and faced her as the woman asked, "May I 
work with you?"

"Yes."

"Look into my eyes, then, and stay with me."  Colleen placed her 
left hand on Scully's right shoulder. The other was pressed 
lightly against Scully's heart.  Heat began to emanate from 
Colleen's hands, both surprising and comforting.  The healer 
sighed and murmured in empathy at the trauma she felt there.  
"People never look at each other," she said.  "Not really.  We 
see only the superficial or what we expect to see.  We forget how 
to just be with one another."  As they stood in quiet, Scully 
truly perceived the loving soul before her.  In return, she felt 
opened, like a book read cover to cover.  Her mind and heart 
connected and she got very, very clear on what she wanted.  
Colleen noted the shift and stepped back.  

"Thank you," Scully said in gratitude.

"You're welcome," Colleen replied, matter of fact.

"I should pay you something."  

Colleen smiled.  "I tell you what.  Come see me next week.  Let 
me know what you think of the book I loaned you and how things 
are going for you and that definite man."  Without waiting for a 
response, she  added, "I gotta go."  Grabbing her handbag from a 
nearby chair, she slung it over her shoulder and left.

Scully drove home and slept soundly through the night.  When she 
next saw Daniel, his disparagement of the prior day's 
intervention was typical, but her reaction was not.  Saying good-
bye willingly, she maintained her poise and walked away, 
satisfied with her choice.  When she saw the pony-tailed figure 
for the third time, she knew there was a reason.  Only, the 
figure turned out to be a mirage and she was face to face with 
the person she most wanted to see, after all.


~*~*~*~

Over cannelloni and a fair amount of frascati, she allowed 
herself the pleasure of just being with him, without 
expectations.  They talked about work, of course.  But instead of 
leaving it at that or adding a minimal personal update, Scully 
began to chat.  It struck her as odd that for all the time they 
spent together, she knew so little about the small details of his 
life, the simple stuff, the good stuff.  And suddenly, she just 
had to know.  His delight at her genuine interest was obvious.  
When she asked if he had photo albums of his family, he squinted 
his eyes at her.  "Okay, who are you?  And what have you done 
with my partner?"

She chortled at that, but insisted just the same.  She was meant 
to find Mulder, just as she did, when she did.  Like opening the 
door to the temple, she didn't know what came next, but was 
certain that what she needed lay beyond just the same.  With him. 

At his apartment, she found herself noting his furnishings.  His 
mother's crystal and china was stored neatly in the cabinets, 
while mail and magazines covered the dining table.  His desk was 
a disaster, but the fish tank was immaculate.  Since when did he 
collect Indian artifacts and why on earth did he own a brass 
kazoo?  The possibility of simple human connection with him was 
dizzying.

The hours passed, but she was wired on possibilities.  So they 
sat and talked.  Or rather, she talked and he listened. He was 
saying something about moments coming together when she finally 
dozed off.  She didn't know how long she napped, but when she 
opened her eyes, she was covered by a blanket.  She liked that 
he'd put it there.  He was still beside her, but slouched into 
the sofa's corner, his left leg still resting on the table, his 
right foot planted on the floor.  He was wearing wire-frames and 
reading something by William Burroughs.  She liked the specs, 
hated Burroughs.  A song she didn't recognize was playing in the 
background.
  
"Hey," she called.

He turned his head and looked at her over his lenses.  "Hey, 
yourself."  His eyes revealed his own fatigue and she decided it 
might be best if they *both* got some rest before charting 
unknown waters in relationship.

"What time is it?"

"Clearly past your bedtime."

"And we have work tomorrow. I should go," she said with regret.   
She pushed aside the blanket and stood with a yawn.  Her shoes 
were by the fish tank and she moved towards them.  Mulder shifted 
his extended leg, so both feet were on the floor.  As she 
navigated through the blanket puddled on the floor, he tugged it 
out of the way.  She lost her footing and, in her lassitude, 
stumbled forward, her knees colliding with his.  Her hands flew 
forward and she toppled towards the coffee table.  Anticipating 
impact on her hip, she relaxed to minimize injury. Instead, she 
found herself caught and pulled into Mulder, then into the sofa 
by momentum.  One hand hit the leather sofaback.  The other?  The 
other landed square in her partner's face, jarring his glasses 
askew.

"Owww!" he squawked.

"Sorry," she mumbled, squirming to regain balance.

"Hold it," he grimaced, immobilizing her as best he could, "or 
I'm gonna end up a eunuch."  She stopped moving at once, feeling 
her inside leg exerting uncomfortable pressure against Mulder's 
most vulnerable assets.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she repeated as he shifted her weight onto 
his thigh.  One of her arms now rested against the back of the 
sofa, her hand atop his shoulder while the other was splayed on 
his chest.  His hands were at her waist, but he wasn't keeping 
her there.  Yet, she lingered.

"S'ok," he groaned, then coughed several times with dramatic 
effect.  "I think I'll live."  She cocked her head and watched a 
slow grin spread across his face.  Her eyes narrowed and she 
shook her head, soughed at him, a smile of her own twitching at 
her cheeks.  "Gotcha," he whispered.

She reached up with her free hand and realigned his glasses.  
"There," she said, then paused to touch her tongue to her lips, 
on purpose.  His pupils dilated ever so slightly and she felt one 
hand at her waist press closer.  The thought of him possessing 
her triggered a twitch at her core that shivered through her 
body.  The freedom to act was intoxicating.

Seconds slipped by in silence as focus deepened and tension 
heightened.  Finally, she said in as casual a manner as she could 
muster, "You know, Colleen says that most people never look at 
one another.  Not really."

"I'm looking at you, Scully."

"What do you see?"

"I see...a woman I don't recognize.  But I know her."

"Do you like what you see?"

He drew in a long breath at that and released it.  He dropped his 
eyes and turned his face from hers.  "Yeah," he finally answered, 
voice lower than usual.  He turned back and there, in the hazel 
eyes she knew so well, she saw desire.

Time took on a slow, surreal quality she now recognized as 
critical juncture.  It surprised her that she could even think 
that.  She looked into his eyes, as if she could discern the 
future there, but all she saw was his complete and utter 
attention on her.  Now.  'Be responsible for everything in your 
life,' she heard a voice say.  She took a breath, then lifted her 
free hand to remove his glasses.

"If you're gonna do that, you better stay close," he said.  "I 
wanna see you -- all of you."  She froze, frames in hand a short 
distance from his face.  He took them, then, and set them down, 
somewhere.  His voice softened, "What do you want, Scully?  Tell 
me."  But she couldn't speak, could hardly breathe.  Then he 
added, "Show me."

That's when she stopped thinking and simply kissed him.  She 
remembered his mouth from previous kisses, brief as they were, 
but she wasn't in love with him then.  What did she want?  She 
wanted this.  She wanted the heat that was pumping through her 
veins at the taste of him, his mouth soft and pliant to her need.  
The feel of his tongue sliding against hers sent pleasure 
rippling throughout her body.

Pressing her hands to him, she claimed advantage.  He allowed it 
for a while, then teased by keeping her at length.  She chased 
his mouth, which eluded her as he kissed her chin, her cheek, the 
hollow of her neck, until she was beside herself.  "Stop!" she 
finally commanded, pressing at his chest with both hands, 
frustrated and thoroughly flustered.  She was breathless and he 
was smiling.  "What are you doing?" she demanded.

He pressed his teeth to his lower lip and pulled for a moment 
before releasing it.  He looked her square in the eye, completely 
in control of himself.  "Enjoying myself," he chuckled.

"Oh," she said, half-amused and half-annoyed by his attitude. "Is 
that so?"

"Yup," he replied, "That is so."  He looked like the cat that 
swallowed the canary and she was determined to wipe that oh-so-
smug look off his face.  She nodded, eyes flaring, color high.  
"Y'know," he went on, "I always thought you were kinda cute when 
you were angry, but I think I like it even better when you're 
angry *and* aroused.  Then again, it might just be the novelty."

Her jaw dropped at that.  "I should kick your ass for that," she 
said.  "I can, you know."  He was baiting her, for sure, but the 
tang of her awakening was evident.  And if this was his style of 
foreplay, it was working.

"I know it," he agreed, somewhat sheepishly, his eyes dropping, 
only to rise in a slow unapologetic scan of her body that made 
her swallow, a blush rising to her cheeks and elsewhere.  When he 
reached her eyes again, he added, "And I love it."  

It was clear, he was hers for the asking.  Her face was slightly 
above his, so she simply dropped forward, mouth slightly open, 
into his invitation to a kiss.  The initial moment was sweet, but 
quickly evolved into ardor.  She moaned as he deepened the 
pressure, her body melting into his.  He moved her onto her back, 
sliding them forward until she was prone, with him above.  They 
kissed repeatedly, languidly then quickly, leaving her 
breathless.  When his hand cupped her breast, thumb brushing the 
sensitive tip, she gasped at the distinct tactile sensation.

Finally, she pushed at him, creating space.  They were both 
breathing heavily, their stopping a mere respite to regroup.  
"Promise me you're not leaving tonight," he urged.

Endorphins flooding her brain, she said in a breathy voice, 
"Okay, here's how it's going to go.  I'm going inside, getting 
undressed and getting under the covers.  When you're ready, join 
me."

Slipping out from beneath him, she stood, pushed her hair behind 
her ears and walked calmly into his bedroom.  Almost immediately, 
she poked her head back into the living room.  Mulder was still 
sprawled on the sofa, his head propped on his hand, staring at 
the doorway with a satisfied grin on his face.  "By the way," she 
added in a sultry tone, "I'm requesting that we keep the lights 
off -- this time."

He was off the sofa and halfway across the room before she could 
react.  With a gasp of surprise, she withdrew, anticipation 
rising like bubbles off uncorked champagne.  There'd be no 
scripted love scene here.  Only him.  Only her.  Only the 
night...  

She smiles to herself, remembering.  His hands never left her, 
even while he slept.  He was passionate and funny and satisfied 
her completely.  God, did he ever.  He still did.  Padding over 
to the sofa, she sits on the floor beside her lover.  She leans 
her head against his back and hears his voice, rough with sleep, 
ask, "You okay?"

"Hmmm."

"That's a definite maybe."  He turns over, lifts his arm and 
scoots back, creating space.  She doesn't argue.  Their movements 
cause the old couch to creak with annoyance.  When done, her back 
is nestled against him, her head against his chest, his arm 
around her.
She grows drowsy, the heat from the stove rouging her cheeks.  
The wind howls and she listens as it wrestles the pines.  Inside, 
the logs crackle and hiss a melody in counterpoint.

"So?" he prompts against her ear.  "Wanna mess around?"  His 
breath is warm and his fingers slide beneath the hem of her 
sweater to circle the skin of her stomach.  His touch is inviting 
and she closes her eyes, savoring the touch.

"I don't think this sofa can stand it," she warns, only half in 
jest.

"Yeah, but it'll be worth it, won't it?"

"Hmmm.  Let me think about it."

"You mean the thought of necking with your husband isn't enough 
to sacrifice a mere piece of furniture?"

"Not when there isn't a replacement handy."

"You're such a wife."

"That's me."

"In that case, I'll just go back to my nap."

"You must be getting old."

"And what makes you say that?"

"There was a time when you simply couldn't be put off."

"Hey, I cleared a very long driveway today, chopped wood and 
fixed the carb on the Minicat.  I'm tired.  Sue me."  He sounded 
gruff, but he wasn't angry.
 
She twisted around so she could see his face.  His eyes were 
already closed.  He had changed; matured, arrogance tempered by 
dependence on others for their very survival.  His beard with 
dark, but flecked with gray, like the hair at his temples.  Life 
wasn't easy, but the simple life appealed to him.  He'd once told 
her he dreamed of settling down in a small town and here they 
were, living on the outskirts of no more than a crossroads.  They 
couldn't settle, but they stayed.

The fire suddenly collapses into embers with a shuck and hiss.  
Moonlight spills through the frosted window panes.  Cold seeps 
through the glass and she feels it across the room.  She rises, 
drawing her cardigan tighter around herself.  She moves to the 
table and lowers the wick on the kerosene lantern.

Returning to her chosen spot by the window, she looks out again 
at the wintry landscape.  Mulder approaches and stands beside 
her.  "Should I wish on a star?" she asks.

"If you can see one, go for it."

"And if I can't?"

"Just pretend you can."

"Does that work?"

"Starlight is powerful stuff.  Maybe the walk-ins will hear you."

"Maybe."  The walk-ins.  Maybe Emily was with them, somehow.  She 
likes the idea.

"What would you wish for?"

"A miracle," she replies knowing he understands which one.
    
"How many more do you need, Scully?"

"More?"  She's taken aback.

"Your cure.  Mine.  The Consortium destroyed and the vaccine for 
the black oil distributed worldwide.  Those are miracles in my 
book."

She considers his case.  "You're right," she admits.  "And I get 
that it's all for a reason.  I do.  I just wonder why it has to 
be so hard sometimes."

He pulls her close and holds her.   "I know what you want.  I 
want it, too.  And whatever it takes, we'll be a family again -- 
somehow."

"How do you know?"

"I just believe."

She raises her eyes to his face and reads weariness on his brow.  
But his eyes are bright and his spirit is as indomitable as ever.  
"You have such faith."

He gives a small moue.  "I call it certainty."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to."

"You know miracles don't always appear that way when you receive 
them."

"Like being assigned to work in a basement office?" 

"Yeah, something like that," he replies, humored. She drops her 
eyes and smiles to herself.  "Look, all I'm saying is that the 
world is as dangerous and beautiful a place as it has ever been, 
but we'll endure.  So will humanity.  It's a given.  Be with it."

She nods and gives a quick sigh.  "Ahso," she replies.  Standing 
on tiptoe, she gives him a light kiss on the cheek, allowing his 
arms to support her.  "Thank you," she whispers. 
  
"You call that a thank you?" he questions.

"What do you want, Mulder?  Tell me.  Show me."  The words are 
familiar and he gets the message from the twinkle in her eyes.  
He smiles and lifting her from the ground, carries her to bed.

There is nothing more to say.

END
March 2007