Disclaimer: All characters seen or mentioned on the X-FILES belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Production, FOX networks, DD, GA, etc. and are used without permission. HOPE HAS A PLACE by Roma Ryan and Enya and THINKIN' ABOUT YOU by Bob Regan and Tom Shapiro are used without permission. The characters you don't recognize from the show belong to me, and if I'm lucky, one of them will bail me out of jail in case somebody mistakenly thinks this work of fiction is infringement--I certainly intend none. This is part 11 of a 12 part series, a sequel to TWELVE RITES OF PASSAGE. If you haven't read that story, you may want to read it first.. TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION No. 11: July "Hope Has a Place" By Anne Haynes "Please God please God please..." Dana Scully murmured a frantic litany as she dialled the cell phone number one more time. It rang twelve times before she disconnected the air phone with a clatter. Her stomach coiled and uncoiled, threatened to rise. She fought the panic and stared out the plane window, wondering how much longer before they landed in Boston. She picked up the air phone receiver and dialled another number. Three rings, then a recording. "Hi, you've reached Samantha and Preston Powell. We can't come to the phone right now--we ARE newlyweds, you know. Leave a message and we'll get back to you when we can." "Samantha, it's Dana. I'm trying to reach Mulder and can't get him at home or on his cell phone. I'm on a plane, but I should be in Boston any minute, so call me on my cell phone." She left her number and hung up, then reconnected and tried one more number. "Boston General Hospital." "This is Special Agent Dana Scully of the F.B.I. May I speak to Dr. Phillips, please?" "Dr. Phillips is not available." Of course he wasn't. He was up to his ears in dying F.B.I. agents. "Is there anyone there who can give me any information about the conditions of the F.B.I. agents who were brought to the hospital two hours ago?" "I'm afraid I can't give out that kind of information over the phone." "You don't understand--" "It's very busy here right now, ma'am. If you could try back later." Click. "Damn it!" Passengers around her turned and stared. She murmured a soft apology and tried one more phone number. Maybe Mulder's partner would know if he was all right. She dialled Kelvin Thacker's number. After six rings, a woman answered. "Kelvin Thacker's phone." "May I speak to him?" There was dead silence on the other end, then a soft, shivery sigh. "He's not available." "Who is this?" Scully asked. "Virginia Thacker. Who's this?" God, Scully thought. If his wife had his phone, then Thacker must be one of the agents in the hospital. Which meant that Mulder . . . She shook her head. You don't know anything yet, Dana. "I'm Agent Dana Scully of the F.B.I. I know your husband through my former partner, Fox Mulder. Is your husband ill, too?" She heard a soft, sniffling sound. "They won't tell me anything. They gave me his jacket to hold, and I heard the phone ringing. I'm in the waiting room." "I'm on a plane, Mrs. Thacker. I'm a forensic pathologist and I'm on my way there to help. I think I may know what's wrong with Kelvin." The question was, could she reverse the condition? "Mrs. Thacker, have you heard from Agent Mulder?" "No. I haven't seen him and like I said, nobody's telling me anything." "So you don't know if he's ill, too?" "I don't know." Her voice changed subtly. "Scully, you said? Mulder talks about you all the time." Scully felt tears of fear and anxiety burn the backs of her eyes. "I'll be there soon, Mrs. Thacker. You try to relax and I'll find you when I get there, see if we can't figure out what's going on, okay?" As she was disconnecting, she heard the pilot announce that the plane was preparing to land. Scully fastened her seatbelt and shut her eyes, closing her fingers over the tiny cross pendant hanging on a thin gold chain around her neck. Mulder had worn this same necklace while she was gone, like a talisman to bring her back to him. She held onto that thought, warming herself with the imagined heat of his bare skin against the cool gold. * * * * * Boston General buzzed with activity. The usual accidents, knifings, shootings, crying children and glassy eyed old people. And on the fifth floor, in the infectious diseases isolation ward, twelve F.B.I. agents dying from an unidentified but virulent toxin. Scully was torn between heading for the isolation ward in search of Mulder or going straight to Pathology, where two bodies already awaited her. She couldn't even contemplate the possibility that Mulder might be one of those two bodies. He wasn't. She would know if he were dead. She would know it in her heart. She decided the best way to help the infected agents was to do the job she'd been called in to do. She went to the basement in search of the morgue, accompanied by the three FBI lab analysts who'd accompanied her to Boston. A woman greeted them as soon as she walked through the Pathology Department doors. "Dr. Scully? I'm Ann Tolleson. Dr. Phillips asked that we suit you up and let you get right to work." "This is Agent Tuttle, Agent Morse and Agent Coleman. They'll be analyzing any trace evidence collected from the banquet room." Tolleson gestured down the hall. "Room B-12. The samples are tagged and waiting." Scully nodded at the analysts, and they headed down the hall. "Any word from the isolation ward?" she asked as Tolleson led her to a small room on the right and pointed to a Bio-Hazard suit. Scully unzipped the bulky oversuit and put it on. "We did as you suggested, lowering the temperature of all twelve patients by five degrees Farenheit and starting immediate blood transfusions." "And?" If this toxin was the mysterious retro-virus, as preliminary information indicated, the patients should be showing slow but steady recovery. "The cold seems to have slowed the progress of the virus, but it hasn't stopped it. We're having to constantly replenish their blood supplies because the toxin is continuing to thicken the blood." Damn! That hadn't happened before. Scully frowned and zipped up the suit. The hot rubber confines of the air- tight suit made her queasy. She gestured at Tolleson. "Let's go before I run out of air." She paused at the doorway of the Bio-Hazard autopsy room. "Tolleson, do you have an i.d. on the two dead agents?" Tolleson pulled a clipboard from a plastic holder on the wall by the doors and glanced at the sheets. "Agent Lloyd Lakeland and Agent Mark Grant." Scully tried to hide her relief, hoping that Tolleson didn't notice the purely selfish emotion. She walked through the doorway into a small anteroom. Air tubes hung from the ceiling; she attached the forced air tube to a nozzle in her suit and tugged the hose, uncoiling it behind her. Idly, she noticed that one of the other air hoses was unwound, disappearing from sight into the room. No doubt one of the staff pathologists, ready to assist her. She pushed through the air flaps and entered the autopsy bay. Two bodies lay on stainless steel tables. At a glance she saw the distinct red streaks around the eyes, nose and mouth. Clear symptoms of the retrovirus. So why weren't the agents upstairs responding to the prescribed treatment? Movement in the corner caught her eye. Another person, encased in a bulky Bio-Hazard suit, moved awkwardly toward her. She squinted, trying to see through the small square visor in the suit, but the glare from the overhead lights created a mirror effect. She spoke, directing her voice into the small microphone in the mask of her own suit, knowing there was a corresponding receiver in the other suit. "I'm Agent Scully." "Nice suit." For a second she froze, wondering if she was hearing what she wanted to hear. "Mulder?" "Yes?" "Thank God!" She took a quick step toward him, then realized the futility of trying to throw herself into his arms while they were wearing these damned suits. "I tried to call all the way from Washington! Nobody could tell me if--" "I'm fine. I was there, but I wasn't infected." "How? Were you out of the room?" "No. It wasn't airborne. I think it may have been ingested. There was a buffet luncheon, but I didn't get there in time to eat. I drank a cup of coffee, so I don't think it was in that, although I collected a sample of everything there was to eat or drink. I've got it packaged and ready for analysis. I assume the Bureau sent you some help?" "Yeah. They're probably on it already." Scully sighed and crossed to the closest autopsy table. "So how'd you end up being my assistant?" "Nobody else wanted the job." "Well, promise me you won't faint, okay?" He made a cross over his heart--at least, where she assumed his heart was underneath the rubber suit. She smiled slightly, cocooning herself in the warm knowledge that Fox Mulder was alive. It would get her through the next few tense hours. * * * * * She and Mulder left the autopsy bay with more questions than answers. In tacit understanding, they waited until they had left the Pathology Department and entered the elevators before they talked. Scully ruffled her sweat-dampened hair, trying to put it into some semblance of order. Mulder reached over and ran his fingers gently through the unruly strands. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a sweet moment of pleasure before she sighed and returned her mind to business. "It's the retrovirus, but I think it's mutated." "How?" "I don't know if it's natural or contrived, Mulder. You saw the effect on the adrenal glands--complete shutdown. That wasn't present in the strain that infected you in Alaska. And according to Ms. Tolleson, lowering the body temperatures of the patients is not having the expected effect." "What does that mean?" "I don't know. Maybe the analysts will know more when they finish." She reached up and smoothed his spiky hair. His slow, boyish grin broke through her professional veneer and she pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Thank God you're okay." He stroked her hair. "I'm sorry, I should've called you, let you know what was going on. There just wasn't much time." She let him go and leaned back against the side of the elevator. "So tell me about the banquet. Nobody's told me anything. What happened?" Mulder shook his head. "It was just your basic dry chicken luncheon--the new Bureau Director in town to give his men a pep-talk--" "Skinner?" Scully looked up, alarmed. "Is he--?" Mulder nodded, frowning. "Last I looked, he wasn't in great shape. But you know he's tough as nails." Scully's stomach hurt suddenly. It had been bad enough, knowing that her fellow officers were lying up there, fighting for their lives--but Skinner was someone close. Someone she respected. She and Mulder owed him a lot. He'd taken some big risks for them. And her mother--"Has anyone called Mom?" He nodded. "I had somebody notify her." She pressed her hand to her head. "So soon after he was made Director . . ." "Makes you wonder if it's a coincidence." She'd already reached that thought on her own. "I wonder if it was a coincidence that it happened here in Boston?" She looked up at Mulder, her stomach tightening even more. "With you and Skinner out of the way--" He touched her hand. "They forgot Dr. Scully always saves the day." "I hope I can this time. This virus--it's not the same as it was before. I do think that the shut-down of the adrenal glands is significant somehow. I'm going to suggest hormone therapy to bring up the adrenaline levels." "Do you think that'll help?" "It won't hurt. I'm going to check with our analysts, see if they can figure out what's happened to the retrovirus to make it act this way. If it's what I think, somebody's deliberately introduced a mutagen to create a designer virus resistant to cold therapy." The elevator doors opened, and Scully led the way to the isolation ward. A balding man in his late forties met them at the nurses' desk. He wearily rubbed the back of his neck and nodded at her introductions. "Cliff Phillips. Nice to meet you, Dr. Scully, Agent Mulder. We've ascertained that the virus is not airborne, but I'd suggest you wear gowns and masks anyway. These guys are in fragile condition." As Scully and Mulder donned protective gear, Scully discussed her findings with Dr. Phillips. "I think we'll want to boost the adrenaline levels to three times normal to begin with, then go higher if necessary. I believe the virus was programmed to shut down the adrenal glands because adrenaline has a destructive effect on the virus. I'm hoping that by boosting the adrenaline level as well as continuing cold therapy and transfusions, we can lick the virus. Normally I'd like to do more tests, but there's no time. We have to take some chances." Phillips looked at her through narrowed eyes for a second, then nodded. "Okay." "I'm going to check on Thacker," Mulder murmured. "Oh, wait." Scully remembered Virginia Thacker. "Mulder, Mrs. Thacker is out in the waiting room. As soon as you look in on Thacker, go talk to her. Tell her what's going on, okay? She has a right to know. And see if the doctors will give her the go-ahead to visit him. If it's not airborne--" He nodded. "I will." She squeezed his hand, wishing they weren't wearing latex gloves, then continued down the hall. * * * * * Thacker looked ghastly, and Mulder thought about another time, another partner lying at the edge of death, so close to slipping over the side. But Scully had come back to him. She'd said his strength had given her the courage to return, but he knew better. Scully was the strongest person he knew. She brought herself back by the sheer force of her indomitable will. And he believed that she would bring Kelvin Thacker back, too. If anyone could save the lives of his fellow agents, it was Dana Scully. Thacker wasn't conscious. He probably hadn't been in a couple of hours, judging how the retrovirus had affected Mulder the time before. Ice packs kept his temperature at a steady 93.6 degrees, and an I.V.was steadily pumping a combination of plasma, digoxin and heparin into Thacker's veins in the hopes of thinning out his coagulating blood. Mulder knew that this kind of therapy couldn't go on indefinitely. Eventually the cold and the drugs would create problems of their own. Mulder bent a little closer to the bed, searching for signs of awareness or life. Thacker was deathly still. "Come on, Thacker, gotta stop catnapping all day. We've got bad guys to nab." Thacker was still. "Guess who's here, Kelvin? Ginny. She's out the waiting room. If you'll get off your ass and fight this thing, they'll let her come see you." He leaned in a little closer. "And Scully's here, too. I told you how she saved me from this nasty bug that time in Alaska, didn't I? Lucky you, she flew all the way here to pick your sorry butt up and get you back on your feet. But you've gotta help her out, Thacker." The respirator hissed quietly, pumping air in and out of the dying agent's lungs. "I'm going to go talk to Ginny now. Tell her you're still hanging in here. Do me a favor and don't make me a liar." He tamped down a fiery sense of despair and squeezed his partner's shoulder, then left the room. Virginia Thacker stood when she saw him enter the waiting room. He lowered his mask, letting it hang around his neck, and took the hand she stretched out to him. Her dark eyes were panic-stricken. "Mulder, is he--" "He's hanging in there, Ginny." Mulder led her back to the bench and sat next to her. "I'm not going to lie to you. It's serious. This is a deadly virus, and we're having trouble getting it to respond to prescribed therapy. But Scully's here, and if anybody in the world can figure this thing out, she can." "I talked to her on the phone. She's nice." Nice, Mulder thought. What an inadequate word to describe Dana Katherine Scully. "I''m going to try to get a doctor to let you in to see him. Are you okay, Ginny? I need to check with Scully and see what's happening, but I don't want to leave you if--" Virginia shook her head, lifting her chin. She reminded him of Scully just then, digging down to find the center of her strength. "I'm fine, Mulder. Go help Kelvin." Mulder squeezed her hands gently, then went in search of Scully. He found her in the room at the far end of the isolation ward, standing at Walter Skinner's bedside. She stared down at him, her blue eyes concerned. When she looked up at Mulder, he could see the brightness of unshed tears. "I think all of this was an attempt to kill him." Mulder thought the same thing, and it occurred to him that for once, he'd give anything in the world to disagree with Scully on this one. "Somebody knows he's thinking about reopening the X-Files." "What are they hiding, Mulder? What could possibly be so vital to them that they would kill and destroy with such impunity?" In her expressive eyes he saw her struggle with rage and sorrow. He circled the bed, closing the distance between them, and put his arm around her. "Secrets always seem to be so much bigger to the people trying to keep them than they do to anyone else." Scully accepted his comfort for a brief moment, then picked up the chart by Skinner's bed. "This isn't the retrovirus as we know it, Mulder. The external symptoms are the same, but it's not responding to the prescribed treatment. There's something I'm missing--" Starting to sound like me, Mulder thought, blaming herself for something over which she had no power. He didn't try to talk her out of it, knowing that for her, like for himself, reassurances accomplished nothing. If guilt was what drove her to find the solution she sought, then he had to let her use it. Scully lowered the chart into its slot at the end of the bed and pulled out her cellular phone. "Have you talked to Samantha?" she asked, lifting the phone to her ear. "I left a frantic message on her machine." He nodded. "Yeah." "Okay--Mom?" She spoke into the phone. "Skinner's hanging in there, Mom. He's a tough guy...Yeah, Mulder's fine. He's right here--what? On the news already? What are they saying?" Mulder saw her forehead crease with a slight frown. "No. And it's not food poisoning, either--" Scully looked down at Skinner. "He's a fighter, Mom. And we're working hard to find out what's going on--what?" She glanced up at Mulder, and he lifted his eyebrows. What? he mouthed. She frowned again. "Of course. Do you need me to meet you?" Of course, Margaret was coming up, Mulder thought. Nothing would stop her from being the man she loved in his time of need. She was just like Scully that way. "Me, too, Mom. I'll see you soon." She put the phone back in her jacket pocket. "Mom says the news is already out. The press is speculating that it's another Legionnaire's outbreak. She's on her way here, of course." "You Scully women can't stand to wait in the wings, can you?" He touched her cheek, thinking how much the Scully women meant to him--and thanking God that one particular Scully woman had refused to wait in the wings more than once when his life was in danger. * * * * * By five o'clock that afternoon, Scully had more information about the nature of the retro-virus. But what she learned was confusing. She sat in the doctors' lounge on the Isolation Ward, studying the charts in front of her, trying to make sense of the most recent test results. When Mulder came in a few minutes later, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "Anything?" he asked. "Yeah, but it's weird, Mulder. Two of the agents are responding very well to the adrenaline therapy. Their last blood tests show that only a tiny percentage of the retro- virus remains alive in their systems, and these organisms are in the process of dying. But the other ten agents have shown little or no improvement in their conditions--in fact, a couple of them are fading." "What does that mean?" Mulder sat across the table from her. "There has to be something about the two recovering agents that's aided their response to the hormone therapy, but I don't know what. I considered age, but one of the agents is twenty-seven, the other is forty-six. One is caucasian, one is Hispanic." "Who are they?" "Laura Kemp and Dale Rodriguez." She flipped the charts. "They have different blood types, different height and weight--I can't find anything they have in common." "Well, they're both women." Scully looked up. "What?" "Kemp and Rodriguez are both women." Scully flipped the charts again, a nugget of an idea hovering at the back of her mind. "I was thinking of Dale as a masculine name--" "Well, she's a tough old bird, but she's definitely female." The idea burst into her brain in a rush that made her sit up straight, her eyes widening. "That's it, Mulder!" "What?" He leaned forward, instantly attentive. "They're women--that's why they're responding." "But a virus can't be programmed to affect only one sex, can it?" "I think this one was. Or at least, the creators didn't particularly care if it was less effective on women, because their target was the bastion of male dominance--the F.B.I." "How?" "We were on the right track with hormone therapy, Mulder. We just didn't take it far enough!" She jumped to her feet, leaning closer to Mulder. "Adrenaline is a hormone--" He stood and faced her, eyes widening. She saw the realization hit him, too. "And so is estrogen." She nodded, a smile creeping over her face. "Let's find Dr. Phillips." * * * * * By ten p.m., a new round of blood tests had yielded encouraging results. Estrogen combined with adrenaline, on top of the cold therapy and a regimen of anti-viral agents, were slowly but surely killing the retro-virus. By the time Mulder brought back Chinese take-out for a late supper, seven of the twelve F.B.I. agents had been moved off the critical list. Scully updated Mulder on the progress of the treatments. "We administered the hormone by extrapolating the normal estrogen levels necessary for a women of, say, Skinner's height and weight." Mulder shuddered . "Oooh, I just pictured that." She chuckled. "Well, it's working." As she was reaching for the box of fried rice, Dr. Phillips stuck his head into the waiting room. "Dr. Scully, I'm back for the night. Everything is finally under control. Why don't you get out of here, try to get some rest?" Mulder looked at Scully, willing her to agree. Right now, after all they'd been through, he just wanted to get her home and tuck her in bed. Okay, actually, he wanted to tuck them both in bed, but that could wait 'til another night. She looked dead tired and he wanted to pamper her. Once again, his remarkable Scully had proved his faith in her. "Come on, Scully, we can pack this up and take it to my place. You look beat." "Are you sure everything's under control?" she asked Phillips. "Just fine. One of the agents is showing signs of pneumonia due to his weakened condition, but we seem to have that under control. I've had a chance to rest, so now it's your turn." "Okay." Scully stacked up her files, tucked her glasses in her jacket pocket and followed Mulder to the elevator. Once the doors closed, she leaned against him, rubbing her cheek against his jacket. "What a day." "You were incredible, Scully. I'm so proud of you." She looked up in surprise. "Those are words I never expected to hear from you, Mulder." He was genuinely taken aback. "Surely I've said that to you before." She shook her head, her expression just a bit wistful. "No. I'd have remembered." I'm a self-absorbed son of a bitch, he thought, if I've never taken the time to tell Dana Scully just what an amazing person she is. * * * * * Scully took the shower first. Only in the privacy of the bathroom did she admit to herself that she was a little disappointed that he hadn't joined her in the shower. It was time to move to that next level. Hell, it was past time. By now they should already by married with a couple of children. They had that kind of forever love. Even in the worst times between them--and there'd been a few--she'd never seriously contemplated life without Mulder. It wasn't worth considering. There'd never be anyone else for her. There'd never be anyone else for him. They'd both tried that route and the results had been disastrous. They should've just faced the truth years ago and stopped putting walls in the way. Well, she thought as she turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, tonight the walls come tumbling down, or I'm not half the woman I think I am. She put on her bathrobe and went in search of Mulder. She found him in the kitchen, scooping the Chinese take-out onto two plates. He smiled when she walked into the kitchen and held out a plate to her. "Almond chicken--mmm, microwave hot!" She returned his smile and took the food. "Thanks." "I knew you'd want to know, so I called the hospital while you were in the shower. Guess what Director of the FBI is awake and grumpy as hell?" "Already?" He nodded. She arched her eyebrows. "Wow, that Skinner must be some specimen! It took you days to wake up in Alaska." He carried his own plate of food to the table and sat across from her, giving her his best Mulder-at-play look. "Well, I clung to unconsciousness, knowing that the minute I woke up, I'd have to face you in one of your pissed-off moods. Can you blame me for wanting to sleep a while longer?" She made a face at him. "Did they let you talk to Skinner?" He nodded. "He actually sounded relieved to hear I was unaffected." Why does that surprise him? she wondered. Mulder always seemed stunned when somebody actually cared about him. Sometimes she thought she could gladly round up every person who'd ever hurt this man she loved and mow them down without batting an eye. Then she remembered her own days at the FBI Academy, when she'd joined in the laughter about "Spooky" Mulder. Goes to show how foolish I was when I was younger, she thought. Thank God I know better now. An intimate silence washed over them as they finished their late night meal. Mulder took her empty plate and washed it quickly with his own. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm going to take a shower. Why don't you take the bed, get some sleep?" "Alone?" His hazel eyes met hers, unreadable. "You're dead on your feet, Scully." She frowned slightly. "I'm not that tired, Mulder." He looked away. "Well, at least lie down for a little while. When I get out of the shower, I'll check in on you and if you're awake, we'll talk." Talk isn't exactly what I have in mind, she thought, watching him escape down the hall to the bathroom. * * * * * Mulder leaned against the wall of the shower, letting the hot water sluice over him as he tried to figure out why the hell he was running from Scully now, after all they'd been through to be together. Why did he want to wait? He was hardly the old-fashioned type, and Scully gave no indication that she was the least bit interested in waiting until the wedding night, either. Truth was, Scully probably didn't think he was ever going to marry her, anyway. He'd always been a bit cavalier about the institution--and considering the mess his parents' marriage had become, he supposed that was understandable. But with Scully, it would be different. He wasn't his father, and Scully wasn't Phoebe or Bambi or any of those women he'd always managed to torture himself with. She was his whole life, and though he didn't need a piece of paper to prove that, he had every intention of asking her to marry him as soon as he went back to Washington for good. So why couldn't he bring himself to show her just how much he wanted and needed and adored her? Why did the thought of that final, mind-shattering act of intimacy shake him to his very center? He searched his psychology glossary for possibilities. Performance anxiety. Goddess complex. Guilt. Now there was a real possibility, he thought. Guilt was his constant companion, and he certainly had enough reasons to feel guilty when it came to Scully. He'd turned her life upside down and inside out, and then reversed the process, more than once. Maybe deep down, he just didn't believe he deserved her. He scrubbed his body vigorously, feeling dirty. He knew it wasn't just the long day and the stress and the sweat. It was years of darkness, starting with a crumbling house of cards in Chilmark, weaving through his life like a ribbon of mourning. Phoebe...Kristin...others nameless, faceless... Scully had been the light in his darkness, sometimes figuratively and sometimes quite literally. If he had a religion, it was her. He put his faith in Scully, and she never let him down. But conversely, did he bring darkness into her life? Was he the demon fouling her heaven? "Mulder?" Her voice, just beyond the shower curtain, set his nerves to jangling. "Scully, I told you to go lie down and try to get some rest." "Why should I listen to you? You never listen to me." He rinsed the last of the shampoo from his hair and turned off the water. "I need to get out now, Scully." "What's stopping you?" He frowned at the shower curtain. "At least hand me a towel." He put out his hand around the curtain. She thrust the terrycloth into his hand, and he quickly ran the towel over his dripping body. He tucked the towel safely around his waist, pushed open the shower curtain, and stepped out onto the fuzzy bath mat. Scully sat on the bathroom counter, her robe gaping slightly to reveal the shadowy curves of her breasts. Mulder swallowed hard and looked up into her eyes. Unfortunately, what he saw in their blue depths was equally disturbing. Tears. Unshed, trembling on dark lashes. "I thought--when I got the call and they told me to come to Boston, that there were two agents dead--they wouldn't tell me anything, just to get on the plane as soon as I could. And I couldn't get you on the phone." Her lower lip trembled. She tucked it against her teeth, struggling for control. "All I could think was, why did we wait so long? Life is so short--" He closed the small distance between them, covering her hands with his. "I'm okay, Scully. We're both fine. And the others--they're going to recover. You were so amazing today. I was in awe." She drew one hand out of his clasp and touched his temple where water trickled down from his damp hair. "Don't try to talk me out of this, Mulder." "Out of what?" He knew what she was talking about, but he couldn't give in to her. Especially not here, not this way. Here in the bathroom--it was too much like-- "I want you so much." She bent and covered his mouth with hers. Her tongue flicked his lips, urging them apart. He tried to resist, to be strong, but her touch was like liquid fire, searing and sealing his fate. He leaned forward and slipped his hands around her back to pull her to him. Her knees parted, her thighs pressed against his sides as she tangled her hands in his hair. His body surged in response. Then, like a plunge into ice water, a dark memory filled his mind. Another bathroom, another frantic day, another woman. Dark. Needy. Afraid. Blood on a pale fingertip; crimson lips opening to drink. His own voice. "It's not who you are. It doesn't make you happy." Mulder drew away, untangling himself from Scully's silken limbs. His stomach ached; his eyes stung. "Mulder?" The uncertainty in her voice almost killed him. He groped for the wall and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. He couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes. He still felt dirty. So dirty. She slipped down from the sink counter and came to stand in front of him. Her strong hands cradled his face, forced him to lift his chin, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. "Damn it, Mulder, don't do this to me!" Her grip tightened, and she gave his face a little shake. "What's the matter?" "Kristin," he whispered, telling her the truth because he wouldn't lie to her now that he'd stopped lying to himself. Her hands shook, fell away. She stepped back, stopping short when her back pressed into the counter. Her voice was low, a little hoarse. "The woman in L.A.?" He nodded. Silence hung between them, not the comfortable silence of their friendship and partnership but a tense quiet, thick with fear and pain. He wanted to find words to explain, to wipe away the wrong impressions he knew she was receiving, but his voice faltered. Finally, Scully broke the silence. "So which is it, Mulder? Love or guilt?" He looked up, met her sharp blue gaze, and realized that she had yet again surprised him. Cutting right to the heart, he thought. To the bone. "Guilt, I think," she added. "I slept with her, Scully--" Her nostrils flared. "I know. I saw the pictures. Not one of your smarter moves." "I was wearing your necklace when I slept with her." Her mouth trembled, and he wanted to throw himself to the ground and beg her forgiveness. He felt like the twelve- year-old he'd once been, pleading with his father to forgive him for letting Samantha be taken. But his father had known it wasn't his fault and let him suffer anyway, while Scully-- Scully knew his weakness. And chose grace over recriminations. "Why did you sleep with her?" Scully knelt in front of him, her hands on her knees. He could tell by the tremble in her fingers that she wanted to touch him, but she also understood that he couldn't bear her touch right now. He was unworthy of her. She deserved more. "You were gone. Just--gone." He shook his head, unable to look at her. He closed his eyes and relived that day in Los Angeles, when everything had gone a little crazier than usual. "I had never really considered there might be such a thing as the undead--but Kristin was convinced. She was terrified. Her whole life was a nightmare of running and running, from her inner demons and from the shadows pursuing her. Abused from her childhood, abused by those who claimed to love her, her heart shattered, her love twisted into something dirty and unnatural." He lowered his head into his hands. "God, Scully, I looked at her and saw myself. So alone. Hurting so damn bad I couldn't sleep anymore." He shuddered, remembering what she'd revealed to him during a hypnosis session less than two years ago--horrific tales of tests and tortures, a rape of a different sort. His voice broke. "I was haunted by how I'd let them take you away, by hellish nightmares of what I imagined them doing to you. What they DID do to you...." He heard her soft half-sob. His stomach recoiled. "She asked me if I was there to protect her, to take care of her. And I wanted to. If nothing else, to prove I could finally get it right." He couldn't suppress a grim laugh. The sound was the most wretched thing he'd ever heard. "My mind was numb. My heart was dead. All that remained was my body, and that's what I gave her." "Did you care for her?" He shook his head. "Not in any kind of personal way." When it was all over, when he sat on that hillside, watching the smoke rise, knowing that Kristin was dead, was nothing but ashes and bone, he'd felt only a sick, empty feeling where his heart should have been. He'd pulled out the tiny gold cross he still wore, watching sunlight shimmer on the shiny surface, and realized that his heart was somewhere far away. With Scully, wherever she was. "Kristin was dead. Intellectually, even physically, I hated the thought. But emotionally--" He finally looked up at her, searched her eyes for signs of anger or disgust, or God forbid, hatred. But he saw only sadness and a deep, fierce love that wouldn't release him. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her arms and never let her go. "I'm sorry." "For what?" she asked. "For being weak. For letting you down." With her ever impeccable timing, Scully reached out her hands and cradled his face. "Not once, Mulder. You've never let me down." "I should've--" "If you could have stopped what happened, you would have. I know that." She pressed her forehead to his. "You'd have taken my place, you'd have killed Duane Barry, you'd have given up the X-Files. I know that." He nodded. "You walked into that office seven years ago, Scully, and saved my life. If it weren't for you, I'd have never lived to see Samantha again. I'd have gone to my grave without knowing that she was safe." She trembled against him, and he closed his eyes. "Tell me you forgive me, Scully." She whispered in his ear. "I forgive you." Then he did crush her to him, holding her warmth close to him, thanking her for saying the words even though he knew she didn't believe she had anything to forgive. His Scully, his best friend, his forever partner, his beloved companion, his fierce protector--she knew him better than he knew himself, better, even, than she knew herself. She stood, drew him up with her. Her hands moved over his back, tracing muscles, sending shivers along his spine. He curled his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her head back. Her pink lips parted, and he slanted his mouth over hers, dipping his tongue into her sweet warmth. He felt her hands slide down his sides, beneath the towel at his waist. The cloth untwisted and fell away. His fingers fumbled at her waist, seeking the scrap of material holding her robe together, tugging without complete success. But the edges of the robe did fall open, and his bare flesh met hers in a moment of sheer magic. He urged her backwards, toward the door leading to the bedroom. Their limbs almost tangled, almost tripped them up, and he felt her soft chuckle rumble against his mouth. That would be about right, he thought with a chuckle of his own. As much time as they both spent in hospitals and emergency rooms, their first time together like this was statistically fated to end with some sort of embarrassing injury they'd have to explain away. He managed to guide them safely to the bed. She pushed him away for a second when he would have lowered her to the soft mattress. Blue eyes mingling laughter and fierce, aching need, Scully deftly unknotted the belt of her robe and let the offending garment fall to the floor, baring her body to him. For a second he couldn't catch his breath. Curves, planes, freckles, shadows, edges, dips--he wanted to touch all of her, taste all of her. She reached for him, and he walked into her arms. She was softer than he'd ever imagined. Soft and warm, her flesh yeilding to his mouth and hands as he acquainted himself with her body. He had never had a deeper relationship with a person in his life than his relationship with Scully, but as they shattered the final barrier between them, the intimacy of this moment left him shaking and stunned. She cradled his face between her hands and kissed him, a long, hard, thorough kiss that made his whole body go numb for a second. When feeling returned, it coiled in his groin. He shifted and turned so that she was beneath him on the bed, cradling him with her hips. He bent to kiss her belly. Her skin was softer than velvet, sweet with the soap and sunshine scent he'd know anywhere, anytime. He tasted her, nibbling lightly, soothing with his tongue, sliding slowly up her body. He closed his mouth over her breast and suckled lightly. Fire shot through him at the sound of her faint, involuntary whimper. He felt like the most powerful man on earth--and it was HER doing. Her need for him, her desire, her trust. She made him better than he was, better than he'd ever hoped to be, and it was so damned good, so much more the he deserved. Scully clutched his shoulders. "Mulder...please..." She shifted, parting her thighs in silent invitation. He trembled, staring down into her passion-drugged eyes. "You're so beautiful." Then he entered her in one long, slow stroke. Scully made a soft, soughing sound. He held his breath, letting her body adjust to the unaccustomed fullness. He realized that she hadn't been with many men in her life, and not for a long time. In a rare rush of sentiment, he was glad, honored that she trusted him with something she obviously regarded highly. In that moment, all thought of his own pleasure vanished, and he knew only Scully. Her needs, her desires, her heart. He loved her with his body, his mind, his soul, gently leading her beyond need into sweet madness. Beneath him, she shuddered, spasmed, held him in her silken snare, gasped his name. Even her voice caressed him. Emotions hurtled through his heart and mind, wheeled and screamed like a thousand starlings, soared like hawks, flitted like hummingbirds, plunged like eagles. His body tightened, gathered for a final onslaught, and then he shattered and spilled, weeping at the wonder and the miracle of loving Dana Scully. * * * * * Scully awoke wrapped in a cocoon of heat, lulled gently to consciousness by the soft rhythm of deep breathing and the slow, steady thud of a heartbeat beneath her ear. She opened her eyes slowly, noted with wonder the rosy streaks painting the wall of the bedroom. Mulder's spare bedroom, where she'd stayed the other times she'd visited Boston. But this morning, she wasn't alone. He shifted in his sleep, tightening his arm over her stomach. The movement left her utterly aware of their nakedness, the feel of his hot skin against her back. The intimacy of his embrace brought tears to her eyes. She turned her head to watch him sleep. It wasn't the first time she'd indulged herself in the secret pleasure of watching him when he wasn't watching her back. Most of the other times, though, he'd either been lost in his own little world of thought--or he'd been unconscious. He slept less frequently and for shorter lengths of time than she did, which meant he was much more likely to be watching her sleep than vice versa. She wondered if he ever watched her sleep. Probably. He was such a mother hen sometimes. And other times... She smiled a secret smile, her aching muscles reminding her of last night's passion. Other times, he wasn't. She turned over, careful not to jostle him too much, and pressed her lips lightly against his collarbone. Allowed herself a small taste. Warm, a little salty. Essence of Mulder. When she looked up at his face again, his sleepy hazel eyes stared back. "Taste good?" She slipped her arms around his waist, kneading his back muscles. His chest hair rasped against her breasts, shooting lovely little sparks down her spine. "Mmm-hmm." He touched his mouth to hers. "What time is it?" Scully realized that the room was quite light. She looked over his shoulder at her travel alarm--which she'd forgotten to set. 6:12 a.m. "Mulder, it's morning!" She disentangled herself from his grasp and clambored over him, chased by his warm chuckle. He rolled onto his side and watched her as she dialled the hospital. "Dr. Phillips, please. This is Dr. Dana Scully." "*Enigmatic* Dr. Scully," Mulder whispered. She shot him an amused warning glance. Phillips answered. "Dr. Scully, did you rest well?" She felt a flush rise in her cheeks. Mulder's eyebrows rose. "Fine," she assured the doctor. "How are the patients doing?" "Their recoveries are absolutely phenomenal, Dr. Scully!" Phillips' enthusiasm buzzed over the phone. "All but Agent Parmeter are out of ICU, and he's only in there because he developed pneumonia, and even he's responding very well to antibiotics. The last three blood tests on all twelve patients have revealed nothing but dead viral organisms. I'd say we killed it, Dr. Scully. Excellent work!" Scully realized she was grinning like a fool. "I'll be there in thirty minutes." Mulder frowned. "Don't rush, Agent Scully. Not much for you to do but take a bow at this point. Why don't we just plan to convene in the war room at nine and gather all our notes for your report?" "Nine sounds fine." Scully waggled one eyebrow at Mulder. He just stared at her like she was on his menu for breakfast. "See you then." She hung up the phone. "Nine? Almost three whole hours?" Mulder's leer was exaggerated. "Shouldn't you be at work?" "I don't have anything until ten." She narrowed her eyes, realizing by his tone of voice that he was keeping something from her, but she also sensed it was nothing important. And the way he was looking at her was swiftly driving out any extraneous thoughts. So she put down the phone and pushed him over, sliding beneath the sheets next to him. "Are you sure you're up to it, Mulder?" He paused, considering the question. A slow grin spread across his face. "Yeah, I'm up to it." * * * * * Mulder ran the razor over his stubbly chin, watching Scully out of the corner of his eye. She sat on the sink counter, studying him as he shaved, making him feel like a bug under her microscope. Finally he put down the razor and looked her straight in the eye. It didn't take much deduction to figure out what she was thinking. She'd seen the photographs of Mulder and Kristin. in the bathroom with no mirror. She'd seen how she'd shaved him, how the razor had nicked him, how she'd almost tasted his blood. The question was there, big as the world, in Scully's eyes. He picked up the razor and handed it to her. "Scully?" Her hand trembled a little when she took the razor. "You don't have to, Mulder." But he did. Demons had to be exorcised. Scully had to know. She licked her lips and lifted the razor to his jaw. Slowly, her touch soft and deft, she ran the razor over his skin. It rasped lightly, the sensation sending a pleasant shiver down his back. She was gentle, careful, her pretty face taut with concentration as she finished shaving him. No nicks, he thought. No pain. She lowered the razor to the sink and picked up the wet washcloth next to her. She tenderly wiped the leftover shaving cream from his face as if bathing a child. He closed his eyes, stunned at how arousing that simple touch could be. He felt her lips brush his, soft and sweet. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him still for her exploration. He felt bereft when she drew away. He opened his eyes. She was looking at him, her expression soft and her eyes bright with tears. "What?" he asked. "I've just wanted this for so long." He rubbed the tops of her thighs through her robe. "So did I, Scully." "Mulder, I can't stand living in D.C. while you're here." He nodded. "We can't go on like this." "I'll turn in my resignation and come back here if Skinner doesn't make a move soon. I think I could get a job with the Medical Examiner's office. Or even with the state crime lab." He shook his head quickly. "No, Scully. You love your job. I want to come back to D.C." "But Samantha--" "--has a husband she's crazy about. My life isn't about Samantha, Scully. My life's about you." He made her cry, he realized with a niggle of guilt. His Scully didn't cry about just anything. She cradled his face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his. "I'll talk to Skinner. He owes me--and besides, he's crazy about my mom. That should be worth something." "What if he offers us the X-Files?" They stared at each other for a long, aching moment. He could see the tempations, the memories, the longing in her eyes. He felt them in his own soul. He and Scully had been a single organism in those days, working in complete harmony. Knowing each other's hearts, minds, instincts. He'd never felt more alive in his life. Until now. Her blue eyes met his in complete understanding. "We agreed, Mulder. We won't give this up, Mulder. We can't go back to how we were before." "I feel the same way, Scully. What we have now is--" "--complete," she finished for him. He nodded. "You could take the X-Files by yourself, " she suggested. "No." He shook his head. "I can't do it alone, and I won't have another partner. Not on the X-Files." "You can bring home your work." "Speaking of work, I'm supposed to meet your old buddy Colton at ten." "Tom Colton?" Her eyebrows rose. "Why?" Mulder grinned. "Because he's been temporarily reassigned to this investigation since the poisonings left us so shorthanded. And guess who's been assigned acting ASAC for the Boston Field Office while Parmeter is recovering?" Her eyes widened. "Mulder, you didn't tell me." "We were busy with other--pursuits." A splash of crimson invaded her cheeks, and he marvelled at the fact that Dana Scully, after all she had seen over the past years, still had the capacity to blush. "I wish I could be at that meeting." "Especially since nobody's told Colton who the acting ASAC is," Mulder added. "I definitely wish I could be at that meeting." She bent and kissed him lightly, then slid off the counter. "Better get dressed." "Don't forget to call in your chips with Skinner. I don't want to wake up without you for another year." She turned in the doorway, her blue eyes glittering. "Believe me, Mulder. I won't let that happen." * * * * * By the time Scully reached the hospital, John Parmeter had been moved out of ICU to a room. Dr. Phillips was a bundle of sheer exuberance when he greeted her at the nurse's desk. "I don't suppose we can talk your superiors into allowing us to write an article for the JOURNAL OF MEDICINE?" Scully sighed. "I'm afraid not. This toxin qualifies as a man-made biological toxin--a weapon of war. The government will demand that all of our work be strictly classified." Phillips smiled wanly. "So much for wishful thinking." She smiled and nodded toward the desk nurse. "Ms. Lehman tells me that Agent Parmeter is out of ICU." "Their recovery is amazing. I suppose it helped considerably that most of them were in excellent physical condition." She nodded. "I'm going to check on all of them, then I'll meet you in the lounge and we can go over the paperwork." She headed down the hall, stopping in at each room in the isolation ward. When she reached Agent Laura Kemp's room, she found the woman up and dressed in street clothes. "They said if you found no further signs of toxins, I could get sprung today." Scully's lifted one eyebrow. "You still have to go through a month's quarantine. " Kemp grinned. "It's not really quarantine, you know. I can have visitors whenever I want. Dr. Phillips says y'all believe the toxin isn't contagious in its current form." Scully checked the woman's charts. "Your bloodwork is almost back to normal. Your vitals are good, and you're obviously feeling well. It's my opinion that you're well enough to get out of here." "Yes!" Kemp laughed. Scully smiled in response. She continued her rounds, saving Thacker and Skinner for last. She checked in on Thacker first. To her surprise, he looked tense and worried. "They're talking about letting my wife stay with me at the recovery facility." She put his chart down and sat on the end of his bed. "Shouldn't that make you happy?" "What if this virus--?" "It's dead, Kelvin. And this strain is apparently communicable only by ingestion or blood contamination. We know the buffet food was spiked. And now that the virus in your blood is dead, you can't infect anyone, not even by exchange of bodily fluids." He relaxed as her words sank in. She smiled and patted his hand briefly. "So, how's Mulder?" he asked. She felt an untimely blush flood her cheeks. "Oh, fine. He's been made temporary acting ASAC." Thacker chuckled. "Now that, I'd like to see!" Scully joined his laughter. "Me, too." * * * * * Mulder was really enjoying himself. Really, REALLY enjoying himself. He sat on the edge of the ASAC's desk, listening to Tom Colton's faltering recital of the investigation to date. "What do you mean, the virus appears to be extraterrestrial in nature, Agent Colton?" Mulder folded his arms across his chest. "That explanation--why, it sounds a little...spooky." Colton squirmed, giving Mulder immense satisfaction. "And where did you get this 'spooky' idea, Agent Colton?" "Agent Scully's preliminary report indicates--" "You're listening to what Agent Scully has to say now, Agent Colton? I seem to recall a time when you couldn't wash your hands of her fast enough." Colton's jaw tightened. Come on, Colton, take a swing. I dare you. Mulder leaned forward, getting in the agent's face. "She told me how you treated her, Colton. The things you said to her." Now the agent looked scared. Good. "Don't worry, Tom." He leaned even closer. "See, I know Dana Scully is more than capable of picking her own fights. And she's far more dangerous than I." He leaned back. "Thank you for the report, Agent Colton. That'll be all." God, he thought as Colton left, I sounded just like Skinner. * * * * * Scully wasn't surprised to find her mother by Skinner's bedside when she walked in. Now that she'd had a couple of months to get used to the idea, the sight of her mother and her boss together was getting to be almost--normal. She looked again and hastily revised that thought. No, not normal. Weird as hell, maybe. "Any idea when I can get the hell out of here?" Skinner asked without preamble. "Nice to see you, too, sir." She sat in the other chair by his bed. "And probably tomorrow." "Do I have to go to the rehab center?" "Yes, sir." "I can countermand your orders, Scully--" "You can't countermand mine, Walter," Margaret Scully said firmly. "If Dana believes you need to go to the recuperation facility, you're going." Scully glanced from Skinner's scowl to her mother's calm, unflappable expression, and stifled a grin. Very weird, she thought--but not without its peculiar rewards. Like watching her tiny, soft-spoken mother giving orders to one of the most powerful men in America--and watching him wracking his brain for a way to regain the upper hand. Crossing her legs, she sat back to enjoy the show. * * * * * Mulder beat Scully back to his apartment. So he quickly took charge of making their evening special, shamelessly roping his sister into his plot. "So you and Dana finally--?" Samantha paused in the middle of lighting a candle on the table and tossed a teasing look over her shoulder. He was flipping through the CD's she'd brought along, looking for the right kind of mood music. He stopped long enough to murmur, "None of your business, twerp," before he continued his search. He bypassed Michael Bolton and Richard Marx, but plucked out one by Enya. MEMORY OF TREES. She was Irish. Scully was Irish. Must be fate. "But you ARE together, right?" He sighed and pulled another CD from the small stack. Trisha Yearwood, THINKIN' ABOUT YOU. He liked the look of the CD cover and some of the song titles. "Yeah, we're together." "For good?" He couldn't stifle a smile. "I don't know if it's for good, but as far as I'm concerned, it's forever." Samantha's grin was electric, her eyes mischievous. "Why, Fox Mulder, what a romantic thing to say! Are you sure you're not an alien clone posing as my oaf of a brother?" "Bite me." She laughed. "Okay, the Chicken Marsala is warming in the oven, the wine is chilling, you're picking out romantic music, and the Sea Splash bubble bath is sitting on the bathroom counter--" He put his musical selections in the CD player's three CD rotator and pushed play. Trisha Yearwood's voice filled the room, clear and pure as a mountain spring. "I'm not quite sure what's goin' on But all day through and all night long, I've been thinkin' about you, I've been thinkin' about you." "Mmm, good choice!" Samantha winked as she crossed to his side. She hugged him affectionately. "Have a great evening." He tightened his arm around her, filled with a surge of love. Despite the time apart, despite all the things that had changed her, made her into a person he didn't know and might never fully know again, she was still his sister, and she was alive, safe and happy. And so was Scully. Safe, happy and in love with him. He was a lucky man. * * * * * The warm, appetizing smell of chicken and spices led Scully into Mulder's apartment. Accompanying the heavenly aroma was a soft, haunting Gaelic air. Enya, she recognized. "You're becoming quite a workaholic, Scully." Mulder turned from the stove, holding a long rectangular dish with two oven mitts. Scully followed her nose to the table. "You didn't cook." It wasn't a question. "You wound me, Scully." "No, your COOKING would wound you." "Okay, I'll admit, Samantha helped." She held in a little smile. "Did she help with this table, too?" She beheld the small table, adorned with breakable plates, cloth napkins and burning candles. "I picked the music by myself." A new song had come on. In English now, though the tune was just as haunting as the previous Gaelic ones. "Whispering world, A sigh of sighs, The ebb and the flow Of the ocean tides, One breath, one word May end or may start A hope in a place of the lover's heart, Hope has a place in a lover's heart." "Since when do you have an Enya album?" Scully asked. "Okay, they were Samantha's CDs, but I picked which ones to play." He dished a chicken breast onto each plate, ladling spicy white wine sauce over the top. Chicken Marsala, she thought. "At least you got her to fix my favorite." He smiled. "Am I good or what?" "Oh, you're a keeper. Definitely." She followed him to the kitchen and ran her hand down his back, almost making him drop the pan of chicken. He lowered the dish to the counter and turned to her. "A keeper?" She nodded, leaning in to press her mouth gently against the bare skin peeking from the open collar of his dark gray shirt. She nibbled lightly at his clavicle, savoring the little hiss of air that escaped his throat at her touch. The music wrapped around them like a warm cloak. "Under the heavens We journey far, On roads of life We're the wanderers, So let love rise, So let love depart, Let hope have a place in the lover's heart, Hope has a place in a lover's heart." "How much longer are you going to be able to stay here in Boston?" Mulder's breath lifted the hair on top of her head. She closed her eyes and breathed the warm, spicy smell of his masculinity. "I have to leave in the morning. The NSA is clamoring for an update, and Skinner wants me to brief them in Washington tomorrow at 11:00 a.m." "Damn." He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her tightly to him. "I'm tired of saying goodbye, Scully." She nuzzled his neck. "So am I." She closed her eyes and drank in his nearness, drowned in the seduction of Enya's haunting voice. "Look to love, And you may dream, And if it should leave, Then give it wings, But if such a love Is meant to be, Hope is home, and the heart is free. Hope is home, and the heart is free." His hand lifted to thread through her hair. He drew her head back and looked into her eyes. "Are you hungry?" Not for food, she thought. He read her mind. A slow smile curved his beautiful mouth, sending tremors rumbling through her body. He turned and pulled her along with him, stopping only long enough to blow out the candles before he led her to the bedroom. * * * * * Mulder lay his head against Scully's breast and listened to her heartbeat slowly returning to a normal speed. His own pulse thundered in his ears in counterpoint to the lazy thrumming of his body. Her fingers played at the hair on his temple, gentle as a whisper. Lifting his hand to her throat, he slid his fingers under the thin gold chain of her cross pendant. He remembered wearing it, remembered how the cool gold had warmed against his skin, reminding him that she was out there, somewhere. Waiting for him to come find her. Only he hadn't found her. They'd brought her back to him so he could watch her die. He shifted as a bone-deep ache sliced through his haze of contentment. So close, he thought. So close to never knowing a moment like this moment, his skin to her skin, his heart beating with hers. "What's wrong, Mulder?" "Nothing." Her silence told him she knew he was lying. "Okay, just thinking about how lucky I am." She chuckled. The sound buzzed in his ear. "Is that so?" He lifted his head slightly so he could look into her face. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her expression liquid and warm. He loved her so much in that moment he thought he would surely weep. He didn't trust himself to speak. She sat up, drawing him up with her. With an endearing show of modesty, considering her recent enthusiastic pursuit of pleasure, she tucked the sheets firmly around her breasts and curled under his arm. "You know, I'm hungry." "I thought we just took care of that little problem." "I mean for food." "Oh." He smiled. "You know, I've always dreamed about having dinner in bed, fed to me by a handsome, sexy man." He arched one eyebrow. "Really?" She smiled her kitten in the cream smile. "But since there isn't one of those around, I guess you'll have to do." He clapped one hand to his chest, feigning a mortal blow. "Ouch." He slid his legs over the edge of the bed and plucked his boxer shorts from the floor where she'd tossed them. "Well, O queen, wait here and I'll be right back." The chicken was cold by now. He put the contents of his plate onto hers and stuck it in the microwave, then searched his cabinet for a tray. Did he even own a tray? What's a tray? He found a long flat cookie sheet in the drawer under the oven. It wasn't fancy, but it would work, he decided. He put the plate of warmed chicken and two glasses of white wine on the cookie sheet and carried it carefully back to the bedroom. Scully had slipped on her panties and his shirt. The combination was potent, and he almost dropped the food onto the bed. Carefully he set the makeshift tray on the bedside table, then sat down on the side of the bed next to her. "Do you want me to cut your chicken for you, madame?" "I think I recall saying I wanted to be FED by you." "No, you said you wanted to be fed by a handsome, sexy man." "Exactly." There was that look again. That barbecue-iced tea-"kiss me, Mulder" look. He was fairly sure he'd deciphered its meaning by now, he thought, remembering how she'd come alive in his arms tonight, ferociously seeking his pleasure as well as her own. He cut a piece of tender chicken breast, speared it with a fork and lifted it to her mouth. Her lips, pink and swollen from his kisses, parted to accept the bite. God, he thought, this is so erotic. Why haven't I ever done this before? Then he realized he was glad he'd never done it before. It was something that was special between him and Scully. A reminder that this was the woman he'd been waiting for his whole life. His Scully, fierce and brilliant and loving. "I love you." The words erupted from him, soft and hoarse. She looked up, tears springing to her blue eyes, and he realized he'd never actually said the words to her before. How can that be? he wondered. He'd felt the emotion, in one form or another, for years now. He'd loved her as a friend, a confidante, a partner--and now as a lover. Each facet of the emotion seemed equally strong and sure, making him realize how deep and complex his bond to Scully really was. It would never be enough to be just her lover, just her friend, just her partner. He needed every part of what she was to him. He wasn't whole without it. "You really know how to get to a girl, don't you?" She touched the tip of her finger to his chin, tracing the small cleft. Even that small caress sent a shudder of need through his body. "How am I going to let you get on that plane tomorrow, Scully?" She stroked his jaw. "I talked to Skinner about your transfer. He's going to push it through when he gets back to D.C. It's just a matter of time." "We've already lost too much time." He thought about three long, unspeakably wretched months he'd spent without her, not knowing if she was all right, not knowing if someone was hurting her, torturing her--or worse.... She cradled his face in her hands for a moment, her eyes searching his expression. She could always read him like a book, he thought as her features softened and her eyes pooled. She released his face and reached behind her neck, unfastening the clasp on her cross pendant. "This has gotten you through before, Mulder. Maybe it'll help this time." She put the pendant around his neck, her small, deft fingers fastening the clasp behind his head. She left her hands at the nape of his neck and bent forward to kiss him. Once more, all thoughts of food vanished, and they came together again to slake a different sort of hunger. End of #11