Title:  Mourning the Living	
Author:  Lilith
Spoilers:  Nada
Classification: S, MSR
Rating:  NC-17, baby
Summary:  Scully and Mulder, with some help from the Gunmen
  deal with the aftermath  of Mulder's disappearence, presummed
  death, and return to the world of the living.
Disclaimers, etc: see bottom




	She is still screaming.
	All these hours and she is still screaming.  
	Her body is stiff, her fingers tightly clenched into fists that 
release only to push the page down button on the keyboard.   The 
tension she's broadcasting is making my mustache stand on end.  
She still hasn't gained back the weight or lost the circles under her 
eyes.  Her eyes are frozen in blue icicle anguish.  It's going to take 
longer than three days to erase three months of pain.
	"So, you ready for lunch?" he asks abruptly.  He forgets 
that he's a ghost sometimes.
	She lifts her left hand but doesn't actually look at the face of 
the timepiece before saying, "no."
	"Okay, just let me know when you're hungry," he says. 
He's worried.  You can tell by the lines in his forehead.  
	"No, just go.  I won't be hungry."
	He looks upset by this.  He's probably a little surprised by 
her honesty too.  But it's no longer possible for her to pretend in 
these rooms.  Too much happened between us.  Of course she's not 
hungry.  We did all we could to get those vitamin shakes down her 
throat at least once a day so that she didn't disappear completely.
	Besides, you can't eat when you're screaming.
	
	The pathetic thing is we thought she would be okay.
	
	She was `fine.'   She was always fine.  When he disappeared 
without a trace for a month, she was fine.  When we found the 
messages on his computer, the ones that said he was to come alone 
if he ever wanted to see his pretty little partner alive again, she was 
`fine'.  She was `fine' when she identified his mottled body among 
the green residue and a face that looked like his sister.  She was 
`fine' when the doctors that have strangely evaporated now 
confirmed that he had died from an exotic viral infection.  When 
that paradoxical smoke stack stopped us on the street and offered 
her his condolences, looking genuinely concerned, she was `fine.'
	And then completely without warning, she stopped being 
`fine.'   In fact, for the last month, she was anything but fine.  
Frohike's panicked description of the scene over the phone was 
nothing compared to the actual sight of her strewn out on her living 
room floor, infomercial glow highlighting two empty bottles of J&B 
on her table and a thin stream of blood where she'd hit her head on 
the edge.  And for once she responded to `are you okay?' with 
something other than `fine'.  Instead she declared.  "He's dead."  
That's when we started keeping her here, so we could keep an eye 
on her.  
	A week later, the screaming started in the middle of the 
night.  Just a continuous stream of `no no no' for the first three 
nights.  Screaming that echoed in the room we three share, creeping 
into the cloth and the walls, mingling with the groans of the 
hardware.  And none of us having any clue what to do but wait for 
it to stop.    Then there was the night with the thunderstorm.  I 
almost didn't hear the door slam because of the thunder, but I 
didn't hear her screaming either, and that bothered me in my sleep.  
I threw on a trench coat and ran up the stairs onto the roof, barely 
in time to catch her arm as she went racing toward the railing, 
screaming at the rain.  I still don't know whether she was asleep or 
awake, if she was going to jump or would have stopped.  In either 
case she was too tired to fight me despite her bruising attempts.  
Then she gave up and collapsed onto the broken stone tiles of the 
roof and sobbed.
	The funeral was worse.  Yes, it was worse than any 
sleepwalking suicide attempt, because she was still and quiet 
despite the fact that she was still screaming silently.  I wonder if he 
even knows that she was his widow.  I had always suspected Jewish 
culture in his background, apparently on his mother's side.  It was 
surreal, to say the least, seeing the sun glint off her cross as she 
whispered kaddish with his mother.  I still don't know when she 
learned it.  Maybe she just knew.  God, I sound like a lunatic, but I 
think she did.  She stepped forward to cover him first, the widow's 
right when there is no son.  She murmured something, I'm not sure 
what , to the lump of earth before letting it drop on his coffin.
	Then she stopped eating completely.  Not that she'd been 
eating much anyway, but between the three of us, we realized no 
one had seen her eat anything in four days.  The vitamins shakes 
were Langly's idea.  She could drink them through a straw and if 
we could get her to eat a little something solid too in the course of 
a day, we considered it a victory.  Her boss, that Skinner guy, we 
needed to be sure he had very little clue as to what was going on.  
He wanted her to take more time off, but she insisted on going back 
to work after the funeral.  We kept her suits dry cleaned and her 
blouses ironed-can you imagine Langly ironing?  She left the office 
at 6:45am and returned at 6:45 p.m. with the exact same expression 
on her face.   Since that night on the roof, she hasn't cried, at least 
not in front of any of us.
	Yet, she is still screaming.
	He showed up on our doorstep one evening and she just 
stared at the monitor.  Frohike opened the door and she just kept 
staring at the now empty image of the doorstep.  Her expression 
never changed as she turned to watch the three of us turn into 
ecstatic puppies.  We greeted him exuberantly and then scattered, 
after all, we could capture the entire exchange on tape.  
	He smiled big at her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and she 
slapped him.  Hard.  "I buried you," she said quietly.
	"I know," he murmured pressing her offending hand to his 
mouth and dropping to his knees before her.
	"Where have you been?"
	"Hell," he replied deadpan, still lavishing attention on her 
hand, practically worshipping her in his pose.
	"You're dead, Mulder."
	"No."  He took her hand and placed it over his heart and 
shook his head.  "No, not anymore, not yet.  I'm alive Scully."  
That's when he kissed her and for one brief instant her body 
stopped screaming and gathered to his.  Then he dropped his face 
to her thigh and began to sob convulsively.  She was whispering 
something softly as she urged him to the level of her chest, bringing 
him to rest against her breast as he continued to cry.  Her fingers 
went to his face, turning his face up to hers, and I turned off the 
monitors.  Some things are private, even here.
	
	"Vanilla or chocolate?" I ask, ignoring Mulder's questioning 
looks.  I'm used to them by now.  He never questioned us about her 
clothes in our hamper and her robe in the bathroom and her files 
scattered on our counters, only gave us that look.  I know she's still 
not eating well, even though she moved back into her apartment 
and we can't look after her anymore. 
	"Whatever, Byers," she replies.
	"Blue or purple silly straw?" Frohike asks.
	She almost smiles.  Frohike made up for most of his 
numerous faults by making Scully almost smile during these long 
months.  "The Spiderman one," she answers.
	"Good choice.  You want anything, Mulder?"  
He shakes his head.  "Byers, could I speak to you?" he says, 
finally.  I've been waiting for this for three days.

	"She was living here?"
	"She had to live somewhere."
	"Why not her apartment?"
	I shake my head.  I'm sure Langly cleaned it up before he saw 
the mess.   Langly's domestic skills were a rather startling 
revelation.  "She wouldn't want me to answer that."
	He is getting angry.  "Why the hell not?" he demands.
	"Look, it was hard enough for her while you were gone.  Don't 
make it hard for her to have you back, Mulder."  I'm not 
completely sure what I meant by that, but he seems to understand.  
At any rate, he pats my shoulder. 
	"I'll make it up to her," he promises quietly.
	I try not to laugh.  "You'd better.  No one's ever going to love 
you the way she does."  Well, that threw him.  He can't quite close 
his mouth.  Good.  Yeah, I know I'm pushing things along.   Or at 
least I hope I am.  That's the point.  
	Frohike has joined us now.  "Mulder, I know I'm not 
exactly the world's foremost expert on women," he issues the 
understatement of the millennium, "but you should take that 
recovery leave you've both got stored up and go somewhere with 
lots of water and very few people."
	Mulder ponders this for a split second.  Then his faces splits 
open in a wide grin.  He saunters back to Scully, places his hands 
on her shoulders and says, "Have you ever been to  Erstwhile, 
Oregon?"




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


	It's gentle and cool here, unlike the artificial warmth of my 
apartment or the radiant electronic heat of the gunmen's rooms.  To 
be honest with myself, I almost miss the place.  It was dingy and 
dim but it was comfortable.  It's comfortable here too, and quiet.  
That's part of why I can't sleep.  The last two weeks in my 
apartment were nearly sleepless.  I've become accustomed to the 
beeps and pings and whirs of hard disks and modems and satellite 
feeds.  And Frohike snoring.  Here there is only the wind and the 
rolling waves and the occasional nightsong of birds.
	The drive up here was surreal.  I fell asleep on his shoulder 
and when I woke up he had pulled off onto the grass and was 
gripping me to him like a lifeline, rocking me slowly.  I threw him a 
questioning glance, but he just murmured a hasty apology and 
pulled back onto the highway.
	"Where are we going?"  It occurs to me that I should have 
asked this a long time ago.  Say, before he bought the tickets and 
turned the papers into Skinner.  Instead I just let myself be led 
through the motions in much the same way I let the Gunmen feed 
me and iron my clothes.  That time is over now.  I'm surfacing.
	"My parents' summer house, the one for when they got sick 
of us" he tells me.
	I smirk.  "How many summer houses do your parents have, 
Mulder?"  I realized belatedly that my tenses may have been 
incorrect.  He doesn't seem to notice.  
	"They had six I think," he replies absently.  Well, that 
answers one question...the Mulders were one comfortable family.  
Six summer houses, his mother's house in Greenwich and that 
mansion his father lived in.  And Mulder lives in that teeny one-
room apartment.  "They never used this one though," he continues.  
"My mother hates the ocean."
	"It's on the ocean?" I ask.
	He smiles.  He can tell by the tone of my voice that he's 
done something right.  "Yeah, Scully.  Is that okay?"
	Is that okay?  Is coming here with him okay?  Is staying in 
his parents' little get-away palace alone with him okay?  Sure.  
Fine. Whatever.  We both know we're here to be alone together, or 
together in our solitude.   That will depend on how honest we 
decide to be with each other. 
	I'm in the master bedroom.  He's sleeping fitfully in the 
spare room.  He left the window open and the chilled sea air is 
making him shiver under the down comforter.  I close the window 
and watch him sleep.   With him back, I'm becoming myself again.  
I didn't even realize to what extent I had defined myself by us until 
he was gone, and some part of me must have decided that I wasn't 
necessary without him.  I have no idea how I ended up on the roof, 
and it scared me.  I dimly remember a time when I didn't need him.  
Thank god for Byers' discerning hearing and quick step. Not to 
mention his fortitude while being pummeled by delirious women.  
	Mulder is still shifting under the blanket, moving his mouth 
in unintelligible silent words.  I brush my fingers through his hair 
and he calms instantly.   His breathing slows and he smiles slightly.  
To my surprise and, if forced to admit, delight, he reaches up with 
one arm and calls to me.  I settle on the edge of the bed, unwilling 
to follow my inclination to snuggle into the covers with him.  I take 
his proffered hand in mine and he smiles drowsily.
	His eyes fluttered open to mine and he tugs at my hands 
until I lean closer to him.  "It's cold in here, Scully," he informs me 
in his rough drowsy voice.
	"You left the window open, Mulder," I tell him.
	He squeezes my hand and brings his other palm to my face.  
"You're warm, Scully," he comments.  I force myself not to smile.  
God, this is stupid.  I need to touch him and he needs to touch me.
	"Scoot over," I order and allow myself to luxury of sharing 
his bed and lending him my warmth.   I am immediately consumed 
in his embrace as he presses my back against his chest and rests one 
large hand on my stomach.   His skin is bare save the swath of cloth 
over his groin.  But even that isn't hiding much from me, not when 
I'm settled against him like this.  I can feel his heart beating.  He's 
alive.  I still have to remind myself sometimes.  He's alive.  
	I fall asleep like that.  When I wake up, Mulder is propped 
up on one shoulder, the fingers of one hand buried in my hair, the 
other's tracing intricate patterns on my abdomen.  Every cell of my 
body has jumped into sharp awareness and I almost don't believe it 
but I am so aroused by merely these sensations and the adoring 
look on his face that I almost moan.
	"They were going to kill you," he whispers shakily.
	"Mulder."
	"They were going to send you to me in pieces."
	"Mulder."   He is still stroking me and his eyes are dark and 
wet now.
	"When I turned myself in to them, they showed me pictures 
of you..." his voice breaks.  He has explained before, without much 
detail, that a clone of me seems to have been made, this one 
apparently for the express purpose of torturing Mulder into making 
some sort of confession. 
	"Mulder, I'm here."
	"They put the body in the cell with me after they killed it, 
Scully."
	"Is that when you escaped?" I ask, still curious.  I knew 
he'd managed to walk to the nearest small town and find a phone.  
I'm not sure how he got away though.   He nods weakly, a tear 
finally shedding from his eyes.
	"I had some help."
	"Who?"
	"You wouldn't believe me."
	"The cancer man?"
	He looks truly astounded at this deduction.
	"How..."
	"I figured it had to be him or Krychek."
	He traces my hairline with his thumbs and breathes out, "Such a 
beautiful mind, and they were going to destroy it because of me."
	I pull him closer, letting his face burrow into my neck as he 
begins to cry in earnest.  "I'm alive Mulder, I'm alive."
	His heart is pounding against my chest now and his hands 
are digging into the cloth of my pajamas, pawing at me.  I take his 
hands in mine and slip them under the cloth so he can witness the 
warmth of my skin.  His fingers dig into the flesh, but it doesn't 
hurt.  His mouth is open against my neck.  "I'm so tired, Scully," he 
apologizes, I'm not sure why he apologizes.
	I run my fingers through his hair and down over his back, 
kiss his forehead repeatedly.  "Then rest, Mulder," I say in my most 
logical voice.
	"Okay," he mumbles compliantly, his arms wrapping firmly 
around me.  "Hey Scully?"
	"Yeah, Mulder?"
	"You probably think I shouldn't say this, but I love you.  I 
really do, Scully, I love you.   You don't have to love me back."
	Is he kidding, or is he really that insecure.  "Jesus Mulder.  
You know I love you."
	"Really?"  God, he really doesn't know, does he?  
Incredible.
	"Why else do you think I stayed with you, after everything."
	He laughs wryly.  "I figured I was so damn lucky to have 
you that I shouldn't question my fate, Scully."
	I kiss his forehead again.  "Sleep now, Mulder."  I push my 
fingers through his hair again and again until I feel his breath slow as
it brushes over my neck.   I drop my face into his hair, take a 
deep breath of him.  Finally the warmth in his body seeps into mine 
and I fall asleep with no fear of nightmares.

******************
	
	Oh, look at her, sleeping with just a little of a smile on those 
lips.  She's here and she's warm and alive.  There is red blood 
pumping beneath her skin and I can feel it under my fingertips if I 
touch her.  I'm not touching her right now, no matter how much I 
want to.  I want to watch her wake up and stretch and open her 
eyes without the inhibition of knowing I'm there.
	She makes a little noise and stretches her arms above her 
head.  She rolls onto her back and reaches out with one arm 
languidly.  It takes me just  a  moment to realize, she's reaching for 
me.  That's a wonderful thought.  Her hand skims the empty space 
and she sits straight up, looking confused and lost.  
	Now I feel like a bastard.  
	How many nights did she dream I was there and wake up to the 
cold knowledge that I was dead?  The stooges won't talk about it, 
but for her to have been living with them, she must have taken it 
pretty hard.  Some particularly sick enemy of mine sent me a 
videotape of the funeral, but Byers was there at the time, helping 
me get my post-post-humus papers in order.  He saw the first 
fifteen seconds of the tape, ejected it and smashed it against the 
wall.  I don't think I want to know.
	"Hey?" I say softly.
	She blinks at me and forces a smile.  "Hey.  You're up?"
	"Yeah...are you okay, Scully?"
	She rubs her eyes.  "I'm hungry," she says.  She seems 
surprised by her own words. 
	I lean forward and brush her hair behind her ears.  "Good, 
because I made some breakfast."
	She gives me an odd look.  "You what?"
	I lift her slippers from the floor and hold them out so she 
can slip her little feet into them.  Then I stand and hold out her 
robe.  She slides her arms into the sleeves, her back to me.  I reach 
around and tie the robe shut for her.  One hand closes over the knot 
and my hands.  
	Certain parts of me are wishing I hadn't added an extra 
layer of clothing to separate our bodies.  The most I allow myself is 
to press my face into her tangled hair.  "Scuh-lee."
	"I'll be there in a minute, Mulder," she says.  
	She comes back enhanced by Listerine and a hair brush and 
proceeds to eat everything I put in front of her with alarming 
efficiency.  Bacon, biscuits, and scrambled eggs are consumed in 
the time it takes me to rearrange the pots in the sink and butter my 
toast.  Scully turns her gaze to my plate, dangerously close to her 
left hand.
	"You still hungry, Scully?"  I ask with a smile.
	She shakes her head and says, "No, I'm fine, Mulder.  I had 
no idea you could cook."
	I shake my head.  "Scully, I do occasionally require 
sustenance that doesn't come out of a cardboard container."
	"Either that or all the restaurants in your area found out 
what a lousy tipper you are and won't deliver to you anymore."
	I lower my head at this all too correct assessment of my 
predicament.  Scully takes this opportunity to try to slip a slice of 
bacon off my plate.  My hand automatically clenches around her 
fist.
	And she gasps that little gasp that has nothing to do with 
surprise or fear.
	I ignore it, because if I don't ignore it...well, we know what 
will happen if I don't ignore it.   Instead I pile up a fork full of eggs 
and hold it out to her.  She firmly shuts her mouth and shakes her 
head.  "Come on, Scully.  I know you're still hungry."
	She shakes her head again.  I can see a smile tugging at the 
corners of her mouth.  She's playing with me.  God, I love it when 
Scully plays.  Ok, but I want to win this one.  "Hey Scully, I heard 
on the drive up here that the weather is this area is unusual for this 
time of year.  Turns out the HAARP satellite has been surveying 
this region lately.  You know, Frohike says there is some 
speculation that the HAARP is a cover for an advanced Tesla 
Technologies experiment and..."
	"Mulder, that's..mph"  I'm just thanking the powers that be 
that I didn't stab too hard.  She's trying not to laugh.  She chews 
the eggs, swallows, looks balefully at me and says, "Mulder, you're 
nuts."
	I am absurdly jealous of my fork right now.
	"Yes I am, Scully."
	She pushes her chair back from the table and grabs her 
plate.  "What are we doing today, Mulder?"
	"Nothing," I reply.
	She raises a brow at me.  "Nothing?"
	"Yeah, lots and lots of nothing."
	"Sounds good," she says.  And it actually worked.  We 
spent the morning on the porch swing, Scully reading about four 
years of back issues of the New England Journal of Medicine and 
me reading old issues of Omni.  We went for a walk along the 
water in our bare feet, and as we approached the house on our 
return, she stopped arguing with me about the probability of 
intelligent life elsewhere in the universe and grabbed my hand.  That 
shut me up; it was worth it for her triumphant smirk.
	We made dinner together, which was nice.  Scully wields a 
paring knife with the same certainty and skill as a scalpel.  And 
despite our bickering about how long things should be on the stove, 
we managed to make a pretty decent dinner.  Then we built another 
fire and watched the discovery channel.  Yeah, so we're a couple of 
nerds.  We know what we like and if it's secrets of the mummy's 
tombs, so be it.
	Then came the difficult part.  Scully disappeared into the 
shower and returned in a nightwear ensemble I've never seen her in 
before.  Not the usual blue pajamas like last night.  This is some 
sort of navy kimono over a blue nightgown thing.  The sad thing is, 
I don't think it's meant to be a provocative garment.  But hell, on 
Scully anything is a provocative garment, particularly when she's 
not wearing a bra.  So what's the next step, hot shot?
	Scully takes the initiative.  "I'm going to bed, Mulder.  Are 
you coming?"
	If you want me to.
	That depends on what we do once we're there.
	I'll race ya.
	Duh.......bed?
	"Um, will the reading lamp keep you up?"
	She shakes her head to the contrary and sidles toward the 
bedroom.  Okay, okay, I can handle this.  I can sleep with Scully in 
the bed and I will not molest her and I will not dissolve into a 
puddle of tears on her breasts like I did last night and I will not, I 
will not act like an idiot.  I will take a shower so I can be as clean as 
she is and I will wear sweats and a T-shirt instead of sleeping in my 
underwear.  I will crack open the window so the cool air will 
remind me about all the things I'm not going to do.  I will pull the 
sheet over my lap and read.
	At first I think she's asleep, curled up in a ball next to me.  
"Mulder, it's cold," she complains in the most adorable Scully-
voice I've ever heard.  Okay, so it's really not that adorable.  It's 
the usual Scully whine, but anything she does while she's wearing 
that blue thing is okay with me.  
	She rolls over so I can see that she's really irritated.  Instead 
my eyes go straight to her cleavage and to the evidence that she 
really is cold.  "You're cold?" I ask.
	"That's what I said, Mulder.  Did you leave the window 
open again?"
	"Come `er," I say, offering my arm.  Scully, without 
hesitation, nestles into the space between my arm and my body, 
using my chest for a pillow and hooking one leg into mine.  Oh, I 
was not prepared for that.  I manage to wrap my hand through her 
hair and pretend  to read until I'm sure she's asleep.  Then I drop 
the book, turn off the light, and pull her tighter against  my chest.
	Oh god, what was that?  Does she have any idea what she 
just did?   If she's trying to wake me up, it worked.  If Scully's 
thigh was brushing against your cock, you'd be wide awake too.  
Did she just kiss my chest?  Yes, yes she did.  And bit me, well she 
nibbled anyway.  I just twitched and pulled her head closer to my 
chest.  She froze for half a moment, then pressed herself full against 
me, before turning over in my arms and pressing her back side 
against me.
	Where is she going with this?
	"Mulder, you awake?"
	I have to laugh.  "Jesus Scully."
	"I told you to close that damn window, Mulder."
	Did she ever find the way to get what she wants out of me.  
I sigh dramatically, throw back the covers and run to the window.  
It's freezing out here.  I tell her so.  She  gives me her `I told you 
so' look.  Scully, while I was gone, has managed to take over the 
warm spot on the bed completely.
	"Scully," I whine, trying to move closer to her.  She 
wriggles away.  "Scully, it's cold."
	"So you said.  I told you to close the window, Mulder," she 
replies, still moving back, dangerously close to the edge.
	"You're going to fall off the bed, "I warn.
	"No, I'm not."  Her head lolls off the side and I hoist her 
back onto the bed and roll her underneath me.  "I told you I 
wouldn't fall off."
	"You're a wicked woman, Scully."
	She gives some little groaning response and tries to squirm 
away.  She gets one hand free but I pin it promptly by her face.  
There is again, that little gasp.   Followed by that look in her eyes.  
"Hey Scully?"
	"What?" she asks rather breathlessly.  I'm having a very 
difficult time forming words even though she's stopped squirming.  
"What?" she asks again, sounding completely flustered.  
	"Dammit."
***

	"yes."
	"What?" He seems truly thrown by my response.  I can feel 
his breath getting shorter and another part growing longer against 
my thigh.
	"The answer to your question, Mulder."
	He's trying to look at anything other than me, but though he 
may have me pinned with his body, I have him even more firmly 
with my eyes.  "I didn't...I didn't ask the question, Scully."
	The question.  An honest choice of words.  "Not with your 
mouth," I reply as I let my legs part just slightly.  I order myself not 
to moan as he settles hot and thick against me.  He sighs and bites 
his lower lip.  "Ask me with your mouth, Mulder."
	"What?"
	Come on, Mulder.  "Ask me," I repeat quietly, "with your 
mouth."
	God he tastes good.  Like coffee and sunflower seeds.  He's 
still holding my wrist, but with no real strength.  I could pull away 
from him easily, but what could possibly posses me to do that.  
He's deepening the kiss and now he has one hand combing through 
my hair.  This is not a question.
	As we break away I tell him so.  He chuckles and begins 
trailing kisses across my mouth, over my cheek and down my jaw 
to my neck.  Nice, very nice, I tell him so as I run my hands down 
his back.  I have to get rid of his T-shirt; it's so unnecessary.  He 
groans against my neck and shivers as I run my nails lightly over his 
spine.  He raises up to stare at my breasts again.  My nipples are 
still hard, but it's no longer from the cold.  Wrinkles form on his 
forehead as he contemplates my chest and explores the lacy edge of 
the gown with his fingers.
	"Scully?"  
	"Mmm?" I reply as non-chalantly as possible.
	"How do you get this thing off?"
	God, his voice is so sexy and rough.  Smiling in what I pray 
is a seductive matter, I slowly pull the garment up and over my 
body.  Now I am naked, completely and totally naked.  
	And Mulder is staring at me with that expression reserved 
for alien spaceships.
	His touch is tentative at first, like he thinks I'll disappear if 
he presses too hard against the surface.  Then suddenly, with a 
rough groan, his hands and mouth are everywhere, stroking, 
nuzzling, nipping, licking.  It's too much.  My body cannot process 
this.  I'm actually shaking; I don't shake.  A little moan escapes my 
mouth as his lips suckle at my breasts.  He raises his head and 
smiles as he switches sides.   
	I press my hands against him gently, rolling him over on his 
side.  It's my turn now.  I run my hands over his chest, his back, his 
shoulders.  He buries his face in my neck and groans into my 
flushed skin.  His hands are on me again, moving lower.  "oh god."  
Was that me?  No, yes, I think it was both of us.   He's opening me 
to his hand and stroking me.  "God that feels good." My body 
jumps against his hand and my eyes close.
	Something is wrong.  This is too intense, too encompassing.  
There should be a slight sigh and a soft convulsion, but that's not 
happening.  My body feels like it's inside a star, melting around his 
hand.  I'm taking deep breaths to keep from screaming and my 
hands ball into tight fists against his back to control my shaking.  
	Mulder stops.  "Scully, what are you doing?"
	I stare at him.  What is he talking about?  He kisses me gently 
and murmurs, "What are you afraid of, Scully?  Loosing control?"  
He's stroking me again.  Oh god.  "I love you, Scully, this isn't about control."  
	His hand leaves me again, stripping off his pants.  He's rolling me 
on top of him.  Suddenly, I understand where he is going with this.  
Nothing has ever felt as delicious as sliding down onto Mulder.  His 
voice comes out as a ragged moan "This is just about you and me 
Scully.   Trust me."   
	"yes...."
	"Yeah, Scully, like that."
	"oh...Mulder."  I can just imagine how silly I look, but as I 
open my eyes, I see that he doesn't think I look silly at all.  In fact, 
I think this absurd moaning and quaking of mine might actually be 
exciting him.  Mulder moans, and the sound makes me twitch, and a 
smile flits over my lips.  God, he's right, it is sexy.  It's incredibly 
sexy, actually.  I want to hear him do that again.  It's causing 
violent, unfamiliar tremors in my body, but every shiver, every 
sound that reverberates through my chest elicits a similarly ecstatic 
reply from him.         
	I'm moving up slowly and down faster, bracing myself 
against his chest.  "More. Scully," he pants.  God he's beautiful.  
Green eyes turn to black as his hands grasp my hips, guiding me, 
speeding me.  His head falls back and he turns his head to the side, 
breathing heavily.  
	I throw my head back, letting the ends of my hair brush 
against my sensitized skin. I'm moving to my own rhythm, heedless 
of his hands.  His body trusts up to meet mine and the contact 
prompts an "oh god Mulder" and I'm so close so close.  He's 
watching me again with that unfathomable expression, like I'm 
divine.  One hand drops to the marked skin of my back, tracing
the mark and I shudder in response, so close to the edge that it's 
nearly painful.  He drives up hard and I feel for a moment that maybe I am 
divine because certainly no mortal could handle this kind of rapture.  
	I think maybe I am screaming.  As though from somewhere outside 
my body, I feel him thrusting in rhythm with my contractions, 
calling my name, and then stopping completely, spent.
With one last keening cry, I collapse against his chest 
completely.  His hands move from my hips to my back and my hair.  
	"Scully?"
	"ugnh?"  Oh god, I can't even talk now.
	He laughs.  "Me too, Scully."
	I laugh back.  He rolls us over on our sides and looks at me, 
still playing with my hair.   "Mulder?"  There, that's better.  I'm still 
breathing hard and I'm probably still flushed, but that's okay.
	"Yeah, Scully?" he replies drowsily.
	"Do you really think it's fate that we met?"  He's talked about 
fate before.  I have to ask.  
	He shrugs and curls me closer to him.  "I don't know, Scully.  
Fate, chance, accident....I'm just happy we did."
	"Yeah," I breath.  I'm suddenly very tired.  "Hey Mulder?"
	"Yeah, Scully?"  He sounds so cute and groggy.  I ruffle his 
hair.
	"It's hotter than hell in here, Mulder.  Open that damn 
window."
	He bursts out laughing, something I've rarely heard.  I like it, a 
lot.  He does as asked though and then pulls the blankets  around 
us.  "Maybe it's not fate, Scully.  Maybe it's a punishment."
	"Goodnight, Mulder."
	


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

	"What is this?"
	"Ah, so you remembered where they were after all?"  He 
smirked at her.
	She glowered back.  "What is this?  How long have you been 
watching her?  She can't be more than twelve years old in some of 
these pictures."
	"Was this the only one you found?"
	"No, there were five others.  What happened to them?"
	"They were deemed....unsatisfactory."
	She crossed her arms over her chest and the file.  "I don't 
understand you."
	He paused, flicking ash from the red tip.  "No, you don't, not 
any more."
	`Why her?  Why not one of the others?"
	"I like her.  Don't you?"
	"She puts up with his antics and takes care of him, and.....and 
she loves him more than I ever could.  So yes, I like her."
	"I thought you might."
	"Don't pretend you made your choice because of me."
	"I was used to it.  You never could decide anything for 
yourself, could you?  Smoking or non, son or daughter, Bill or 
me..."
	"That's enough!"   A heavy silence fell over his trampled 
cigarette.   She broke it.  "You would have made the decision 
anyway.  Building your mysteries was always the most important 
thing to you."
	"Thank you for the file."
	"Answer a question for me?"
	"Perhaps."
	"Do you still believe in the project?"  He lit a cigarette with his 
usual flourish.  "Who would I report you to?"
	"It doesn't matter what I believe anymore."
	She noticed the slip.  She lifted her chin with a smirk.  "I think 
you're right.  I don't think it does matter to you, anymore.  You 
just don't know how to stop."   He looked away over the water.
	She eyes followed his and her voice took on a softer tone.  "How 
is she?"
	"Happy."
	She nodded.  "He's in a position to stop you.  Why haven't you 
killed him?"
	"There are a number of reasons.  He is important to the 
success..."
	"Don't try to sugarcoat things for me.   I saw everything you 
saw.  You want to be stopped don't you?"
	"Apparently your stroke was more damaging that I had 
estimated."
	"Then why give him this?  Why make him stronger?"
	He dropped the cigarette and mashed it into the dirt.  He took 
the file from her hand, carefully avoiding contact with her skin,  and 
turned to leave.  He could feel her eyes stabbing into his back and 
he turned on his heel to face her once more.  He paused to light 
another cigarette and answered her, "We all want our children to be 
happy."

**********

	I answer the phone and say something absurd like, 
"Cinderella's Cleaning Service.  Open till Midnight."
	"Byers?"
	"Scully? Are you two still in Oregon?"
	"Yeah.  Um, did I leave my gold earrings in the bathroom 
there?"
	I take a deep breath.  Actually, she left several things.  That 
has nothing to do with why she called.  I can feel a smile tugging at 
my lips.  "I think so.  I'll put them is safekeeping until you two get 
back."
	"Thank you, Byers," she replies in many different flavors.
	I hang up and Langly crosses his arms over his chest and 
blurts, "so?"
	I shake my head.  My response won't make any sense to 
him. 
	She's stopped screaming.





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

Disclaimer:  I don't own them, but I can torture them too.  
  No Foxes were harmed in the making of this tawdry piece
  of mind candy.  All hail CC for creating them.

Notes:  Big thanks as always to the ladies at Amy and Karen's 
  Haven.  Esp to Suzanna and Hannah, my erudite editors, who 
  slogged through several revisions of this.  Still not as good as
  Reinventing, but if Suzanna has her way, I'll soon have another
  edition of that story as well.