Title: Angels, Ghosts, and  Roads {-:More music fic:-}
Author: Well Manicured Wife
Rating:17+ (at the end)
Keywords: MSR/Angst/Original characters
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: After the death of a fellow agent,
Scully reflects on life...or the brevity of it.
Shout-outs:*Sheryl Martin* wrote me a
very flattering feedback message on my first
fanfic. I am in awe of this extremely talented,
sensitive, and experienced fanfic writer, so
imagine my surprise and delight upon reading
her encouraging words. This one is for her, also
Jan, Sister Zooey (always), Plausible Deniability,
and the rest of you who sent me such honest
and truly helpful criticisms.
Musical Notes (ha-ha): "Roads" is available on
Portishead's album Dummy and on their 1997
live album PNYC. The version in this fic is from
the live album. If you haven't heard it, do
yourself a favor and check it out. So...
Lit Notes: "Look Homeward, Angel" is written
by Thomas Wolfe and is available from Simon
and Schuster Press. Like Portishead, you should
invest some time in it if ever you have enough.
It is a long, but worthwhile read. I promise.

Roads
by The Well Manicured Wife
******

St. Marys Catholic Cemetery
Washington D.C.
4:23 p.m.

The rain had just started to pelt heavily against the
windshield of the bureau's Taurus when Dana Scully
slid into the seat. She brought with her the last
vestiges of the funeral they were leaving: a thin
layer of raspy soil on her boot-bottoms, the misty
droplets on her black trench, and the cool, windy
smell of February air. Immediately, she pulled off
her leather gloves and held her palms in front of
the full blown heat radiating from the dash.

Mulder gave her a moment to settle before pulling
into the line of dark, government vehicles leaving
the cemetery. He watched her out of the corner of
his eye, noting the pinkness in her cheeks and nose,
no doubt a product of the cold and grief that had
been shared today. As he pulled into highway
traffic, she sniffled and he broke the silence at last.

"Want to stop and get some coffee, Scully?"
She shook her head. "I don't feel much like being
in the public eye right now, Mulder."

He pursed his lips in understanding. Agent Nathan
Caldwell's funeral had been nothing if not...emotional.
Not that the emotion wasn't deserved. Nate had been
a very popular and outgoing agent, perhaps a bit
hotheaded at times but... ‘Well, we all have our moments,'
Mulder mused silently. ‘I certainly have mine.' Then he
glanced over at his partner who was far from hotheaded
and doubted the validity of his generalization. ‘Maybe
not *all* of us,' he acceded.

Scully, for her part, had relaxed against the seat and
appeared to be trying to forget the whole ordeal.
She said, "It was a lovely ceremony." And she was
prepared to leave it at that.

"Yeah," Mulder agreed. He drummed the steering wheel
for a moment. "Caldwell's partner - what's her name?"

Scully swallowed. "McDaniels. Sandra McDaniels."

"Right. She seemed pretty broken up." Mulder looked
over at her. "I saw her talking to you after the service."

Scully tensed again, sensing that Mulder was hinting
at something, digging for something. "Yes," was all
she gave him.

"Is she all right?"

Scully sighed heavily. "What do you think, Mulder?"
At his surprised expression, Scully softened her tone.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just..." She didn't finish
the thought - didn't have to. "No, Mulder, she's not
doing very well. She's on suicide watch."

Mulder licked his lips and nodded right-of-way to
a mini van at the four-way stop. "I didn't know
that," he said. "Skinner told me you two had
worked together before."

"At the forensics lab," Scully answered. "Back
when we were students at Quantico." She toyed
with the belt on her coat. "I gave her my numbers
today. Just in case she needs to talk."

Mulder glanced at his partner. "That's good," he
said. And he meant it.

Dana smiled at his sincerity. "They were together
for five years, Mulder. It would have been five years
for them next month. That's...that's a long time, I
think."

Mulder turned the windshield wipers onto high power.
"I doubt it felt that long to them," he said. "Maybe it
didn't even seem long enough."

Looking at him now, Scully waited for her partner's
eyes to meet her own. When they did, she looked at
his arm, and put her hand on it.

There was silence for the duration of the drive to
Scully's building. When Mulder pulled up to the
main entrance, he parked the car as if intending to
turn it off and walk his partner in.

But Scully stopped him. "I'm fine, Mulder. Go on
home and get some rest. I'll see you at work in
the morning."

Mulder started to protest but thought better of it.
Instead, he forced a reassuring smile. "Right,
Scully. You get some sleep, too."

Scully was nodding, forehead slightly creased,
leaning there in the car door left ajar. That fickle
February smell was closing in on him, sort of
pricking and sticking like the minuscule drops of
rain on Dana's slightly tousled hair. Something
was hanging there in the heaviness, made
buoyant by the wind and visible by the rain.
"I..." Scully started, then stopped.

Mulder looked up at her expectantly, chewing
a little on his lower lip, then followed her gaze to
the leaf-clogged rain grate embedded in the curb.
Her mouth was working exquisitely to form
some secret incantation it seemed, but the words
never coalesced. Instead, fake smile firmly
reinstated, she said, "Well, sleep well, Mulder."

He wondered if she even heard him reply as
she shut the door and walked away.

******

Scully's apartment was warm. As soon as she
closed the door and pulled off her boots, her
stockinged feet began to tingle with the warmth.
She hung up her coat, and walked into the
kitchen...where she just stood.

She stood there for some fifteen minutes maybe,
with her hand on the refrigerator handle, and her
eyes on a grocery list, until she tasted sharp, hot
tears stinging the back of her throat. So she wandered
back to her couch, sat down, put her suddenly heavy
head in her hands and cried.

******

Fox Mulder dropped his keys onto his coffee
table. His cell phone followed, along with FBI
badge and holster. His gun he placed in the drawer
of his desk, where he paused to look out his
slightly frosty window.

Sighing, lost in some fleeting personal concern,
he turned to search for his remote control.

Bravo was airing a concert series all day –
modern, progressive artists singing moodily
into solitary microphones on dim, stark
soundstages. At the moment, Ani DiFranco
was rasping something about being a joyful
girl.

Mulder snorted ironically and let his head
fall against the back of his leather couch.
He wondered what Scully was doing.

******

Her phone was ringing. It was seven o'clock
and her phone was ringing. Scully sat up,
groping around in the dark for the portable
phone she had seen beside her earlier. She
found it lodged between two of the cushions
she had fallen asleep on, and pressed the talk
button.

"Scully," she said, expecting Mulder or maybe
her mother.

When there was no immediate response, her
tired eyes opened fully in anticipation. "Hello?"

"Agent Scully?"

It was a hoarse, exhausted female voice.

"Yes," Dana answered. "Who's speaking?"

"This is Sandra McDaniels, Dana...you gave me
your number at the funeral today and I..." She trailed
off, then: "I'm sorry. You sound like I woke you. I
can call back later."

"No,"Scully said quickly. "I did take a little nap it
seems, but I'm glad you called." She paused
somewhat nervously. "How are you?"

Sandra laughed a mirthless laugh and Scully
winced. "I'm all right, I guess. I just wanted
to talk to someone. Not a psychologist,"she
amended. "So, I..." She sighed. "I know it's
been a while since we were students together,
Dana, and...I know we don't know each other
very well, but...I don't know."

Scully heard rustling on the other line – the
sound of a coat or jacket being removed. Was
it possible that Sandra was just now returning
from the cemetery? She did sound a bit congested.

"Truth be told," McDaniels continued, "I'm not
very good at this...just talking thing, I guess."

‘Neither am I,' Scully thought and smiled. But
she was secretly glad this grieving woman had
called her. Some nurturing and understanding
chord had been struck on the ever-stoic Scully
violin at the funeral that afternoon, and Dana was
more than willing to alleviate a burden of grief
that she herself knew too well.

"Are you busy right now?" There was a hint of
almost desperation in Sandra's voice, like she
nearly hoped Scully *was* busy. Then, she would
just hang up the phone and find something to do –
maybe go to the office, clean out Nate's desk –
anything to avoid this alien intimacy with a near
stranger.

"No," Scully answered quietly. "I'm not busy at
all." Another uncertain pause. "Would you like for
me to come over?"

The other woman's reply was quick and firm, though,
surprising Scully. "No, no," she said. "I'm...I'm a mess,
I'm afraid."

"I understand," Scully said. "I mean, I don't *understand,*
not really, but...I can imagine." She bit her lip. "I know
you and Caldwell were close."

There was silence on the other line for a time,
and Scully worried she had touched the issue
too quickly, too closely.

"Yes," Sandra finally replied. She sounded a bit
more relaxed. "We were...very close."

Scully nodded and closed her eyes, trying to relate
without relating. ‘I will *not* think of Mulder,'
she repeated in her head like a chant.

"We weren't lovers, Dana. I know that there were...
rumors in the bureau about us, and now, in the
wake of Nate's...demise..." A small silence here.
"I just want you to know that none of it was true."

"Oh, Sandra," Scully said. "None of that matters.
I know how difficult it can be being the object of
gossip and assumption. But, you know the truth –
the essence of your relationship with your partner –
and that's all that ever really matters."

"Yeah," McDaniels agreed quietly. "But...God, this
is hard to say." She groaned, and Scully could
envision her on her couch, hand over her eyes,
biting her bottom lip, struggling to speak whatever
it was.

"This is just between you and me, Sandra," Scully
reassured her.

"I was in love with him, Dana." The truth spilled
out quickly, on a wave of immense relief. "I know
that's wrong, but...God, I tried so hard. Worked
for years to keep it a big secret..."

Sandra had started crying again, softly, and Dana felt
her heart fill up with a hot, spongy substance. It
was the reservoir that held all of her own secrets,
her complex and forbidden feelings for Mulder.

"It's all right, Sandra. You couldn't help those
feelings. You're human...just like you're feeling
sadness right now...and loss." Scully tried to
remember the things Dr. Kossoff had told her after
her father's death, but none of it was coming back,
so she just said the things she thought herself.
"We...forget sometimes," she continued, "in the
midst of tough cases and strict regulations. But
we're still human beings, we're still women. And..."
She picked her keys up off the coffee table,
fingering the keychain Mulder had given her for
her birthday a few years before. "They get to
us sometimes."

Scully heard static going in and out on Sandra's
end of the line. She was probably pacing about
the house, listening, collecting her own muddled
thoughts. "Yeah," she said. "They do get to you."
She laughed quietly, and Scully smiled. ‘She's
laughing,' Dana thought. ‘That's good. She's
relaxed and coming to terms with this thing.'

"Are...are you and Mulder close?" Sandra asked
timidly.

Dana sighed and leaned back into the couch
again. *That* was a tangled barrel of monkeys
to open. "Yes." She hesitated. "We're very
close...in a weird, kind of complicated way, I
guess. We don't always...get along...when it
comes to cases mostly." She'd never realized
how difficult to explain her relationship with
Mulder really was.

"Oh, I know," McDaniels breathed. "Nate and
I used to argue like two worst enemies." Scully
heard her take a swallow of something. "But
we always made up before pizza and beer night."

"That's good," Scully told her. "It's good that
you two had time together outside of work...to
just be friends."

"He was like a brother to me sometimes, Dana.
I guess that's why it was always so hard for me
to come to terms with my more...romantic feelings
for him."

Scully made herself comfortable under the quilt
she kept across the sofa and turned on the lamp
just above her. In the soft light, she said, "Tell
me about him, Sandra."

There was silence again, but it was a good silence.
The silence that speaks volumes of shimmery
recollection, like remembering the compassionate
grandmother who passed away when you were six –
the one who buckled you cold, patent leather shoes
in the warm, pancake-smelling kitchen as you all
bustled about, preparing for church on November
mornings.

"Mmmm..." Sandra began. "Well, Nate was....
intelligent. I don't mean just FBI intelligent.
Anyone can learn that stuff. I mean he had a
sweet sort of sensitive intelligence. See, he was
an English major when he first started college,
so he read all of these...you know...high
intellect books, I guess. And he still read a lot,
even after he changed to a criminal justice major.
This one guy he read – Thomas Wolfe – wrote
this enormous book..." She broke off, trying to
remember the title. "Nate must have read it like
a hundred times. He was always trying to figure
out the meaning of it. That was one of his favorite
stakeout topics. Look Homeward, Angel. That's
what it's called. He could talk about it all night."

Scully smiled, thinking of Mulder reading those
stupid tabloids in Tauruses littered with Burger
King bags and empty Styrofoam cups til she had
to laugh and tell him to put it down.

"There was this line. I'll never forget it as long as
I live." Sandra's voice sounded far away now. "‘A
stone, a leaf, an unfound door,'" she quoted. "Nate
always came up with a different meaning for that
quote. He said it was about self-discovery one time,
then that it was about finding our destinies...I don't
know. He said a lot of things about it. Always trying
to get me to read the damn thing..." She laughed.

‘Laughing to keep from crying,'Scully thought.

"Thing is, it's long as fuck." Sandra yawned. "I was
always saying Nate, I don't have time to read that
thing...But now, I've got a few weeks off, so I guess
I do." She was quiet. "That um, engraving? On his
headstone? That was from that book. He was always
saying it was one of the greatest lines ever penned.
‘O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back
again.'"

Scully recalled the marble etching, scrolled out
intricately beneath a small, stone angel. "It is
beautiful," she breathed.

"Yes. I thought it was...appropriate."

The two women shared a comfortable silence
before Sandra spoke again, saying wearily, "But
he isn't coming back, is he Dana?"

Scully could only shake her head. Her throat felt
tight with unshed tears.

"That's the hardest part." McDaniels' voice was
wet and thready. "I know it's true. I just don't want
to believe it." She was weeping anew.

Swallowing her own selfish tears, Scully soothed
the woman. "I know, Sandra. I know it's hard to
accept. All I can tell you is that you have to be
strong." But that sounded cliched even to Scully's
own ears, so she said the things that had kept her
sane upon Mulder's numerous disappearances and
near-death-experiences. "And you have to remember
that he cared about you, too. So no matter how
permanently - how completely - he's taken away from
you...there are some things he gave you that can
never be taken away."

There was no response for some time. "Sandra?"

"I'm still here, Dana." She took a deep breath.
"You're right, you know. Nate and I...we shared
things no one else shared. He...balanced me, I
think. He kept me rational most of the time."

Scully was slowly rising at every one of Sandra's
words, recognizing them as words that had been
spoken to her by her own mysterious ghost.

"I just..." Sandra was breaking down again. "I just
wish I'd told him..."

"Sandra," Scully interrupted urgently. "I think...No, I'm
willing to bet that he knew. The same way you knew the
things you just told me, he knew the things you couldn't
tell him."

There was controlled sobbing on the other line for a
moment, then, "I know, Dana. I Know he knew
something. But I still just wish I'd told him just
the same. I wish he'd heard it from me. When I think
of him, lying shot in that alley, wondering where I
was at....Oh, God, Dana!" More crying. "I could
have told him then. If I'd been there, I could have
told him then."

"Sandra, stop blaming yourself! You got there as
soon as you could. You can't..."

"He told me he loved me."

At those quiet words, Scully froze.

"Blood was pouring out of his mouth," Sandra
went on recklessly. "It felt hot and sticky all
over my hands and my thighs and I kept saying
‘Hush, hush' over and over again and he said...
‘I love you." She was strangely calm as she
continued. "Those warm, brown eyes were
struggling to stay open, looking at me...and he said,
‘I love you.' Then...he just slipped away. Me
sitting there with my mouth open."

"Sandra," Scully whispered.

"I don't think he heard me say it back, Dana."

Scully wiped the tears from her face. "Oh, he
did, Sandra. I'm sure he did." It was all she could
say, and it sufficed.

McDaniels' weeping sounded less pained at that
moment, more relieved and...even joyous. "God,
I hope he did," she said.

Scully sat quietly while Sandra calmed. She heard the
woman sniffing against a tissue, clearing her throat,
collecting her thoughts again. "Thank you for your
patience, Dana," she said.

Scully, smiling, was about to reply when the sound
of a door opening on McDaniels' end stopped her.

"Oh, my sister's here," Sandra said. In the
background, a woman was calling gently,
"Sissy?"

"In here!" Sandra's answering call was muffled
by a hand over the receiver. "Thank you again,
Dana....I needed this."

"Anytime," Scully answered. "I hope you'll call
me again tomorrow?"

Sandra hesitated.

"I'd really like to hear from you again," Scully
added.

"Yes," McDaniels said. "I'll call you again."

Dana was relieved to hear that. "Good," she
said. "Sleep well, Sandra."

"You too, Dana."

With that, the line went dead. And Dana Scully
was left holding it in her lap, staring at the glowing
digits with something akin to wonder, and
something akin to need taking shape in her heart.

******

Fox Mulder was nearly asleep.

A half-eaten pizza rested on the table before him,
and on the TV, a group called Portishead was
urging him to relax. The singer, a lanky, attractive
British woman, was singing about love in a most
painful way.

"Take a ride
Take a shot now
Cuz nobody loves me
It's true
Cuz nobody loves me
It's true
Not like you do"
He was slowly nodding his head to the beat,
closing his eyes and envisioning Scully on her
couch. Sleeping? Watching TV, too? Sipping
a mug of steamy hot cocoa?

"Oh, these sour times....
Cuz nobody loves me
It's true
Nobody loves me
It's true
Not like you do..."

A sudden series of sharp knocks at his door
roused him from his revery just as the singer
was getting particularly passionate with the
microphone. Hitting the volume control on
the remote, he called out, "Coming."

In the rectangle of light produced by the
hallway, Scully stood. That's all she did.
Stood, dripping a little from the rain that
had fallen all day, and looked at him.

The streaks on her face didn't look like
just rain, though.

"Scully," the surprise showed in his voice.
"Come in here and get a towel."

She stepped in slowly, almost mechanically,
and he touched her arm as he shut the door.
Taking her coat from her limp form, he
asked her if she was okay. At her nod, he
hurried through his bedroom to the
bathroom, returning with a white, slightly
worn towel. Scully mussed her hair with it.

"Were you asleep?" She asked.

"Almost," he confessed. "But it's nothing I
can't catch up on later. What's up, Scully?"

She walked over to the couch and sat, giving
the TV a curious glance. Mulder followed her
back.
"Sandra McDaniels called me," Scully finally
offered. "We talked for a while."

Mulder nodded, understanding now. "How is
she?" He asked.

"As well as can be expected," Scully answered.
"Her sister is with her."

"Good."

"Mulder?"

He looked at his partner. In the weird light from
the television, her profile was apparition-like. "Yeah,
Scully?"

She took a deep breath and looked up from the
towel twisted in her grasp. "I don't have to tell
you..." She licked her lips. "Mulder, you know..."
Her forehead creased with her frustration and he
reached out to touch her cold hand.

Some awkwardness drained away. "What, Scully?"
His words were quiet, as if he feared they might
disturb the magical connection that had formed
here.

Her blue eyes were glistening clear with moisture.
"You know I love you, right?" The words were
choked out.

"Ah, Scully." He pulled her to him. "Jesus, I know."
He placed kisses in her hair, tasting the wetness of the
rain as she cried against his chest. Her arms felt like
two angel arms wrapping around him, and when he
rubbed her back comfortingly, he expected to feel
ethereal wings there. "You know I love you, too," he
whispered, realizing how hard those words had been
for her. They were some other language on his tongue,
a spell he was concocting for the first time.

"Yes," she murmured against his neck. "Yes."

Mulder took her head in his heads, tilted it up to
kiss her brow, her left eyelid. "Scully, I'm not
going to leave you," he said.

She looked at him, lips trembling. "You don't
know that, Mulder. We never know...I had to
tell you so..."

He kissed her. He kissed her lovely, swollen,
tear-flavored lips until she kissed him back
mindlessly. Until they knew only the desperate,
searing taste of each other.

In the silence, only the voice of the singer on
television could be heard, narrating their joining.

"Oh...
Can't anybody see?
We've got a war to fight.
We've gotta find a way,
regardless of what they say.
How can it feel
this wrong?
From this moment,
how can it feel this wrong?"

Scully broke the kiss first, distracted by Mulder's
firm hands massaging the small of her back. His
fingers had inched underneath the black blouse she
wore, and the tips were raising goosebumps on her
flesh. "Mulder," she gasped.

He was kissing her neck, humming encouragement
as she returned his caresses, easing her own hands
beneath his grey tee. Feeling the muscles in his back,
the living, straining, moving muscles, brought fresh
tears to her eyes. He was life! He was her life! He was
bringing her to life! "Oh, God," she hissed at the
sensation of his hands closing over her shoulders.

Brought back to reality perhaps by her words, or
the feel of her jerking against him in shock, Mulder
pulled away. Placing his forehead to hers to steady
them both, he breathed, "I'll stop, Scully. Just say
the words."

So she did. "Touch me, Mulder." And she took his
lips with her own again.

"Stoned,
in the morning light.
I feel no more.
Can't say it –
from self
to myself.
I've got nobody on my side
and surely that ain't right...."

Mulder lowered Scully onto the couch til she lay
stretched beneath him, their legs entwined like their
souls. He slowed their kisses as he unbuttoned her
blouse, touching the expanses of exposed skin as it
appeared. She was so pale...

"Surely that ain't right..."

Switching the arms that helped poise him above
her, Mulder helped her pull his shirt over his head,
and Scully reached behind her to release the hooks
on her bra. They had to stand to work one
another's pants off, putting Scully's lips level with
Mulder's rapidly rising and falling chest.

"Oh
Can't anybody see?
We've got a war to fight
We'll never find our way,
regardless
of what they say.

How can it feel
this wrong?
From this moment,
how can it feel
this wrong?"

In the back of her mind, Scully's thoughts
were churning. She knew that technically,
what they were about to do was wrong – or
at least dangerous. Threatening to consummate
a beautiful seven-year relationship with sexual
insubordination....But that's only what her
superiors would say – what the Bureau
code book would say. To Dana, no moment
had ever felt so right before...

Moving to his bedroom without losing contact
with one another proved difficult, but they managed,
supporting each other as always. Mulder's bed
clothes were cold to Dana's over heated skin, so
she jumped a bit when she lay on them. But
Mulder's warm body soon covered her own, and
she was warm beyond belief.

Free from clothes, from eyes, grief, and bureau rules,
their hands explored each other's bodies, finding the
supple places and the firm ones. Making each other gasp
and giggle until Scully was pressing her hips against his
impatiently.

Mulder looked at her face. Eyes closed tightly, lip
clenched between sharp, white teeth, she was his
fantasy come true. His Scully, his life, was yearning
for his touch, to feel him inside her. Wondrously,
he touched her face, and she turned her head to
meet his gaze.

"Oh, Mulder," she breathed.

"I love you, Scully."

She threaded her fingers into the hair at the back
of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. "I know,"
she said wetly against his lips. "Make love to me."

Mulder moaned in reply and sought out another
unexplored territory, testing Scully's physical
readiness with his fingers. She gasped and thrust
against his hand. "Ah, Scully," he breathed.

Scully, feeling her partner's readiness against
the inside of her thigh, wrapped her right leg
higher over his hip. She bent the other against
his thigh, and he put a hand on it as he nudged
his way inside her body.

"Ow!" She couldn't help but cry out at the size
of him, the unexpected pain of his entry.

Mulder caught her cry in his mouth, wanting to
soothe her, needing to move within her. He curled
his fingers possessively around her raised knee,
tugging it, urging her to wrap it too around his
waist.

Scully complied, lost in a haze of sensation; Mulder
thrusting slowly inside her, one of his large hands at
the small of her back, the other moving jerkily up her
hip as their bodies began to move less smoothly
against each other.

"Scully..." Mulder groaned as one of her hands
made its sticky way between them to touch
herself. She needed to catch up to him, seeing
the closeness in his dilated pupils and sweaty
brown.

"Yes, Mulder,"she gasped in reply.

Feeling her fingers moving against his pelvic
bone as he thrust into her was too much for
Mulder. His warning dissipated into a series
of grunts and growls as he spilled helplessly
into her, feeling the wonder of rippling woman
muscles as she followed him much more
gracefully. He watched her face contort most
beautifully and felt like weeping at the sight.

Their breathing steadied synchronously. Scully
was gently kissing Mulder's shoulderblade as he
did her hairline.

"Mulder," she said.

"Shhh," he replied. "Let's sleep."

Dana smiled at his weary murmur, feeling
the smile deep in her heart. She helped him
pull blankets up and over their bodies.
Mulder moved lethargically between the
sheets til he spooned against her back. His
arm dropped heavily over her midsection,
and he gave that last sigh before sleep in her
hair.

Scully was not so quick to sleep though. For
a while, she watched her fingers travel the
length of Mulder's forearm. She marveled at
the complexities of his body, solid and yet
spirit. He was alive. His chest was rising
rhythmically against her back, and his pulse
was passing strongly between those
delicate muscles in his wrist.

Happy with these things, Dana closed her eyes at last.

******

Sandra McDaniels' sleep had not come easily. It had
been 1:13 a.m. before the pills her sister gave her
kicked in, but now, her eyes moved peacefully behind
her lids in a dream.

In her dream, Sandra watched Nate step out of their
stakeout vehicle. His tan trenchcoat fluttered in the
warm wind, and he gave her a wide, welcoming smile.

"Sandra," he said, and his arms were welcoming, too.
She stepped into them as if greeting him at the airport
after one of his week-long trips somewhere.

"Oh, I miss you," she said, laughing lightly.

"I know," he said. "But I'm here aren't I?"

She touched his upper arms in wonder. "Yes. Are you
real?"

Nate's brown eyes sparkled and he bent his head an
inch to kiss her forehead. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh, Nate." She looked at him again, the desperation
showing only slightly in her happy gaze. "I love you."

He kissed her nose this time. "I know," he said.

He kissed her lips this time. "I know," he repeated.

He kissed her lips again. "I know."

He kissed her lips....

******
THE END
******

esther_greenwood@hotmail.com