Title: Breadcrumbs
Author: Narida Law
E-Mail address: narida_law@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: SAR
Spoilers: None.
Keywords: MSR, a little Scully Angst
Archive: Anywhere.  Telling me is sweet and would be 
much appreciated, but not obligatory.
Feedback: It is what makes this writing thing 
worthwhile, after all.
Disclaimer: Well, Mulder and Scully have sex in this 
story, so it can't be the doing of Chris Carter, 1013 
Productions, or Fox.  No infringement on my part is 
intended, though they have my blessing to infringe 
upon this story all they like. <g>

Summary: Scully discovers that what once was lost can 
be found again.

Breadcrumbs
By Narida Law

1/2 (NC-17)
~~~~~~~~

I believe I am wakened by a change in Mulder's 
breathing.  It is so subtle and delicate that I doubt 
I would have noticed it even if I had already been 
awake.  But the mind works in unusual ways; 
occasionally, during the times we are supposed to be 
at our most inattentive, we are instead at our most 
alert.

I feel Mulder shift slightly next to me, but as I 
adjust myself to give him more room, his arm tightens 
where it is wrapped around my waist.  I smile 
slightly and don't resist.

But though my mind feels strangely open and ready to 
receive, my body wishes to return to its rest.  What 
this bizarre pairing will produce is anyone's guess.

So despite the acuity of my mind, I am soon drifting 
off to sleep again...

~~~~~~~~
I find myself sitting on a curb, staring down at my 
black Mary Janes.

I am eight years old, and I am waiting for my brother 
after school.  My mother is at the doctor's office 
and won't be picking me up today as she normally 
does.  When Bill finally shows, he is with a group of 
friends, noisy and obnoxious.

He doesn't want to walk me home.  I can tell by the 
way his eyes trail from his friends to me.  I am a 
thorn in his side.

I don't need you, I tell him belligerently.  He may 
not want me with him, but neither do I need his 
presence.

I know the way.  Just give me the key.  I'll let you 
in and Mom won't know the difference.

He stands there hesitating for a moment as his 
friends get further and further away.  All right, 
here you go, he says, tossing me the key.  Don't get 
me in trouble.
~~~~~~~~

I shift under the covers.  There is a shadow of 
knowledge at the boundary of consciousness, something 
I know I should remember.  It is already slipping 
away, and somehow I don't want to let go.  But my 
attempts to grasp the intangible are futile.

I gradually realize the soothing rhythm that greets 
my ears is the sound of raindrops falling from the 
sky, greeting the inhabitants of Alexandria and 
nearby areas with a soft pitter-patter.  I love the 
sound of rain hitting pavement.  I love the sound of 
rain pounding against windows, knowing that I'm safe 
and secure on the other side.  I love the sound of 
rain when I've got Mulder spooned up behind me, 
gently snoring, the covers pulled up and over us to 
guard us from the chill of the room.

Skin on skin.  I burrow a little bit farther into his 
embrace, and instinctively he helps me, even asleep.  
God, he feels so good against me, his body giving off 
waves of heat like a furnace.  My toes are a little 
cold, I realize, and inch them toward Mulder's body, 
selfishly wanting to steal some of his heat.

Lucky for me, he is a generous man.  He doesn't seem 
to mind my cold toes.  But then, he's got plenty of 
heat to spare.  Within minutes my feet are as warm as 
the rest of me.  They've been toasted by the 
Mulderoven.

I look at the clock on the nightstand beside the bed 
and am not surprised to find that it is well past 
three in the morning.  I close my eyes again, and 
will myself to join Mulder in slumber.

~~~~~~~~
Come to the turtle races, Teddy implores.  I don't 
wanna go by myself.

I see his face, and strangely, mine as well as I try 
to rationalize why I should go...and I must be pretty 
convincing because suddenly I find myself on the 
field where the races are being held.

I can't really make out the faces of the other 
children - their faces are all blurry - but I note 
there are maybe seven turtles total, which is a good 
thing, because some choose to pass on the indignity 
of "racing" and don't move from their starting 
positions.

I root for Turpentine.  He is so tiny, so dainty 
compared to the monsters he is racing against that I 
imagine his little turtle-limbs shaking with fright.  
I have always championed the cause of an underdog.

The other kids scoff at his chances - keep dreaming, 
they say.  But Turpentine is unfazed by their 
mockery.  In his body beats the heart of a warrior, 
in his soul resides the gentle spirit of the humblest 
of God's creatures, and in his blood he possesses an 
uncompromising nobility.

Yet he needs me to communicate to him his worth.

Without this validation, he is incapacitated, 
vulnerable; no good to anyone.  He gazes at me with 
soulful eyes and I tell him, I believe in you.

What he lacks in acceptance he makes up for in speed, 
intelligence, and agility.  And I think part of him 
likes proving his doubters wrong.  I watch him reach 
his goal again and again, my heart bursting with joy.  
I share in his victory, because I am the one who 
believes in him.
~~~~~~~~

I jerk a little as I wake.  There it is again, the 
fleeting specter of enlightenment I know I should 
grasp before it is swept away.  It must have to do 
with something I was dreaming...but for the life of 
me I can't recall any dreams.  I close my eyes again 
in frustration.

Perhaps if I clear my mind, it will come back to me.  
I take a deep breath, and smell the delicious blend 
of muted sex and sleeping Mulder.  I am momentarily 
distracted.  Oh, if only I could bottle that scent, 
I'd spray it all over my apartment, and maybe it 
would help me cope with the nights he is away.  Those 
times are rare, but not rare enough to suit me.

There is something important that I'm supposed to be 
aware of.  I know this, and am frustrated by my 
inability to ascertain what it is.  I open my eyes a 
little.

The room is bathed in a muted light that nearly 
tricks me into believing it is the light of the moon.  
It is a bit too bright, however, and in the area 
where my mind processes this information, I dimly 
realize that the illumination is courtesy of a 
streetlight outside.  The light changes form as it 
passes through a thousand raindrops, landing on our 
skin in a chaotic array of punctuation.  But any kind 
of light is unnecessary.  I don't need to see Mulder 
to know that he's beautiful when he sleeps, that his 
lashes curl slightly against his cheeks, that his 
mouth opens a bit just like a little boy.  I know 
these things about him, these intimate little details 
I file away into my heart, and guard with my love.

I like to pull them out and examine them quite 
frequently.  I've accepted this, even though at times 
it happens against my will, most inopportunely: I'm 
sitting at my desk concentrating on a report, and all 
of a sudden an image of Mulder standing under the 
spray of a hot shower comes to me unbidden, and I 
can't focus on the words I'm trying to read.  All I 
see are the droplets of water that sluice down the 
curve of his muscles, over his smooth skin, and my 
only thought is the enjoyment I would derive from 
kissing each one of those liquid beads into my mouth.

Perhaps one of the more embarrassing scenarios occurs 
when we've been called on the carpet in Skinner's 
office.  As we are being lit into, unexpectedly I 
will see Mulder, his beautiful eyes closed in sleep, 
breathing evenly.  His hair is mussed, his jaw 
unshaven, and I know it will rasp against my skin 
when he wakes and kisses me good morning.  This 
causes me to close my eyes, losing myself in the 
image, feeling the delicious anticipation of finally 
seeing those hazel eyes open and being the first 
object they spy, until Skinner barks my name and 
Mulder - wide-awake Mulder - stares at me curiously.  
I then apologize with an embarrassed flush, and his 
curiosity turns speculative.  Beyond the 
embarrassment, I have to suppress a shiver.  I know I 
will be rewarded for my little indiscretion later on, 
in the privacy of...a closet, a bathroom, anywhere 
remotely secluded, so that we can satisfy our mutual 
hunger.

This is not really helping me remember my dream, if 
indeed I was having one.  In fact, these thoughts are 
having the opposite of the desired effect, 
distracting me from my goal.  Not only that, but I'm 
getting distinctly uncomfortable, shifting my legs to 
ease a little of the discomfort that is beginning to 
ache there.  I'll try another line of thought - if I 
am lucky, perhaps the mundane will incite clarity.

So, to that end, I think about what I'm going to wear 
tomorrow.  I imagine different outfits on myself, 
sorting mentally through my closet.  Unfortunately, 
the mundane also has the side effect of making me 
drowsy.  Before I can pick a top to go with the pants 
I decide on, I vaguely realize in my semi-wakeful 
state that I am drifting off to sleep again.  Don't 
forget, I tell myself.  Don't forget...

~~~~~~~~
I am walking the streets alone.  Dusk has just 
fallen, making the world appear a quiet and peaceful 
place.  The silence is a little disconcerting after 
all the excitement from before, but I have no qualms 
about making my way home.  I am certain about where I 
am going.

I walk - I don't know for how long.  My legs seem 
tireless.  In fact, my physical body doesn't seem to 
assert itself much in any way.  I do not falter, 
although I am aware that nothing really looks 
familiar.  But my feet seem to know instinctively 
where to go, so I just keep going.  However, when I 
stop at the location where my house should be 
standing, I am a little concerned.  It isn't our 
house.  It doesn't look right, even though it is - 
yes, the fifth house from the corner.  I count again.  
No mistake.  This is where I am supposed to be, but 
it isn't.

I stand there trying to make sense of it, fear and 
desperation growing by leaps and bounds.  Dusk has 
turned into early evening, and the skies are much 
darker.  It is almost unfathomable; how can I be in 
the wrong place?  I was so sure of where I was going.

I try to rationalize why my house has suddenly 
disappeared.  Perhaps I can ask someone?  But the 
idea of knocking on one of the doors is abhorrent to 
me.  I don't know where I am; I don't know whom I can 
trust.  I trusted myself, but look where that has 
gotten me.  The panic begins to rise in earnest.  
Where has everyone gone?  Where is my home?

Where do I belong and why aren't I there?
~~~~~~~~

When I wake again I am tangled in the fleeting 
silhouettes of a time long past, if it existed at 
all.  I have no doubt wakened myself by my own 
restlessness.  I let out a long breath, feeling very 
unsettled, disturbed, and am not surprised to 
discover a trickle of sweat running down my temple.

My restlessness is frustrating, to say the least.  I 
know I will likely be exhausted in the morning.  My 
slumber isn't usually so troubled.  It's Mulder who 
occasionally gets agitated in sleep, though that has 
subsided quite a bit since we started...since we 
started.  But of course tonight he is sleeping like 
the dead, even though I have kicked half of the 
covers off the bed.  His arm is sure and strong 
around my waist, and it's comforting to know that if 
I were to change that situation he would wake in a 
heartbeat.

Again, the fragments of whatever I had been dreaming 
are gone.  I was so close this time; I could taste 
comprehension on the tip of my tongue.  My mind's 
tongue, anyway.  It is rather like standing on a 
cliff, preparing yourself for the fall, feeling a 
little frightened, perhaps, but bolstered by the 
knowledge that the fall would free you.  You 
rationalize that the stomach-drop at the outset is 
worth the exhilarating sensation of the fall itself, 
a more than compensatory exchange.  But after all 
that, just as you're ready to jump, you get stopped 
and held in limbo, never knowing if you're going to 
get that chance again.

Go back to sleep, I tell myself.  Of course, that 
never works.  Instead, my thoughts ebb and flow in a 
multitude of colors and sounds presenting themselves 
in turn.  They settle on my mother and exactly how I 
will reveal to her that her dreams have come true - 
I'm finally 'involved' with Mulder.  I close my eyes 
and smile, picturing her reaction.  It isn't 
difficult.  I know she'll be delighted.  She loves 
him.  Sometimes I think she loves him more than she 
loves me.  Mothers are all traitors, I think without 
malice.

I wonder about the kind of mother that I would have 
made.  It's not the first time I have had thoughts 
such as these, of course.  But they don't pain me the 
way they used to.  I have come to accept this as part 
of myself: I will never bear children.  I don't know 
that I would have wanted to have kids necessarily, 
but what angers and disappoints me is having the 
decision eliminated from my realm of possibility.  I 
don't like limitations, in any form.  But I know that 
we all have them.

In any case, I don't know if I could give up this 
life, this life that I have with Mulder, for the 
purpose of procreation.  Children would necessitate 
that.  We couldn't raise a child doing what we do.  
It's the whole reason why neither of us has any pets 
- at least, not for any significant length of time.  
Mulder has his goldfish, but their frequent demise 
only accentuates my point.  Mulder isn't ready to 
give up this fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants life, and 
I'm not ready to give up Mulder.  I never will be.  I 
don't know how long this quest will take, but I plan 
on being there with him every step of the way.  
Nothing means more to me.  Nothing.

What I regret, what pains me, is the knowledge that 
if he sticks with me, Mulder will never be a father.  
And he would make a wonderful father; I =know= this.  
He is still a child himself in so many ways, and I 
don't see that evaporating any time soon.

It's a sobering thought, one that hurts and chills - 
that if he were to pick almost any random woman off 
the street, he could probably have children with her.  
The idea of Mulder having a child with someone else 
hurts more than the thought of my never having a 
child with anyone, I realize.  My heart beats a 
little faster.  There's something very significant 
about that, I think.  But I'm not sure I want to 
think about it any more.  It's mentally exhausting 
and emotionally disturbing.

Mulder sleeps on, oblivious to these thoughts that 
are making me snuggle in closer to him.  I feel very 
possessive tonight.

Think of something else, I order my brain.  For a 
change it complies, but not quite in the way I meant.  
Sleep offers a familiar welcome.

~~~~~~~~
I recall a childhood fairy tale, one in which two 
children are left in the woods.  One child has used 
his only sustenance - a piece of bread - to guide he 
and his companion the way back home.  I have long 
pondered the faultiness of his thinking.  Not only is 
his attempt at cleverness thwarted by hungry birds, 
but he himself risks going hungry.  If only he had 
thought of using pebbles, or marking the trees that 
they passed, things might have turned out so 
differently.

Right now, however, I would give anything for a trail 
of breadcrumbs to lead me home.  I am distraught.  I 
am more than distraught.  When a car pulls up in the 
driveway next to me, I am startled to tears.

Dana Scully?  The man's voice is full of surprise.  
The joy of hearing my name is overshadowed by the 
fear that threatens to choke me.  I am not afraid of 
the man, who is but a messenger.  His presence gives 
truth to the one thought that repeats itself 
incessantly in my mind: You've lost your way.  You've 
lost your way.

Let me take you home.

I don't know where it is.

I do.  I know.

How can you know, when I don't know?  How can I have 
lost my way so utterly?

Am I saying these words out loud?  I can't tell.

What could have happened to turn me around so 
completely, challenged everything familiar, 
everything I knew?  I cannot understand how I lost 
sight of the things comfortable and customary to me, 
leaving me to wander these silent streets alone, 
searching for something elusive, but, God, so 
important.

I pray with all my heart that I will find the answer 
someday.  And the cure.

I pray that I'll have the strength to endure both.
~~~~~~~~


End 1/2

Missing a part? Write narida_law@hotmail.com

Breadcrumbs
By Narida Law
narida_law@hotmail.com

2/2 (NC-17)
Disclaimers found in part one

~~~~~~~~

When my eyes open they are, at first, unseeing.  
Realizing this, I try to focus my vision, but objects 
are blurred.  Am I still dreaming?  I blink, and feel 
the sudden wetness course down my cheeks.  Tears.  
What the - ?  And as inexplicable as it is, I know 
that I could bawl right now if I let myself.

Suddenly, a change in his breathing pattern tells me 
that Mulder is awake, and knows that I am in the same 
state.  We both lie quietly for a few moments, not 
speaking, savoring the stillness of the night and the 
sound the rain makes as it runs down the windows.  I 
keep any further tears in check.  No sense in 
worrying him about something I can't even begin to 
explain, myself.

"Scully..."

The sound of my name on his sleep-roughened voice 
startles in the silence, making me shiver, and my 
nipples tighten in preparation.  Talk about your 
Pavlovian response.  Practically every thought leaves 
my head, save one: I want him.  This despite the fact 
that my tears are still drying on my cheeks.  But, 
God, just being in his presence brings a comfort that 
rushes out to embrace me in its expansive arms.  
Unlimited.  Unlimited comfort.  His hand brushes 
against a hardened nub, and almost pauses in surprise 
at this sign of my arousal.  Unlimited love.

"Damn, Scully."  Mulder is far from displeased.  He 
makes a noise in his throat, akin to a growl, and I 
can feel the hot flood of anticipation start to build 
between my legs.

I can feel his erection already, hard and insistent 
against my back, and I smile into my pillow.  Nice to 
know I'm not the only one around here who has a low 
threshold of tolerance.  At times, it's amusing to 
consider how easily we excite one another.  At other 
times, like this, it is merely arousing.

I reach behind me to stroke him languidly, and the 
way he gasps sharply and sucks in his breath makes me 
feel the delicious thrill of control.  He's mine, I 
think.  All mine.

I shift a little on the bed, and suddenly I can feel 
the tip of him nudging the sensitive opening where I 
want him most.  I slide down - just a little - so 
that the tip of his cock is barely inside me.  I stop 
there, savoring the sensation, prolonging the sweet 
torture.  So close...  I want him inside me so bad 
that it almost hurts, but I exercise the control that 
I keep in reserve.  I don't know why I'm using it 
right now, exactly.

"Are you trying to kill me, Scully?"  His breathless 
groan flutters enticingly near my ear.  I think I 
could come just from hearing him speak to me in that 
aroused, semi-awake voice of his.

Maybe that's why.

I want to hear how I'm driving him crazy.  I want to 
hear how much he needs me, how much he wants me.  
"Why am I doing all the work here?" I tease, my own 
voice husky.  "If I'm going to do the work, I think I 
should be able to decide the - oh, God!"  My mocking 
comment doesn't quite have the effect I had planned 
when Mulder decides to take it upon himself to shut 
me up by suddenly pushing all the way inside.

I let out a strangled whimper.  God, he feels huge, 
like steel wrapped in satin.  My inner muscles clutch 
him convulsively, ecstatically, even though the 
sensation at this point is akin to pain.  My body 
recognizes its master - I myself have long since 
ceased to have any credibility.  I find it difficult 
to pleasure myself when Mulder is not there to 
satiate my desire for him; my hand is a poor 
substitute for his cock, long and thick, and God, so 
incredibly hard.

This same cock is now starting a rhythm that my body 
thrillingly recognizes, and it begins to move with 
him without my conscious knowledge or consent.

"You were saying, Agent Scully?"  His voice, still 
tinged with sleep and so near the sensitive crevice 
of my ear, is arousing me to new heights.  It is also 
filled with smug satisfaction.

Bastard.  Jerk.  I feel him slide all the way out, 
then...ohhhhhh, in.  I love this man.

The sheets that only a moment ago felt perfectly 
comfortable are now feeling a little overheated and 
humid.  I bite my lip to keep from giving him the 
satisfaction of knowing how much I love what he's 
doing, but I'm about ready to give in.

"Come on, moan for me, Scully," he whispers into my 
ear, biting on the lobe.  He moves faster.  "You know 
you want to."

I shake my head stubbornly, and he laughs a little.  
"Gonna make me work for it, huh?"  I jerk my head, 
meaning for it to be a nod.

His left hand leaves my waist and moves over my hip, 
down to where we are joined.  His fingers begin to 
skillfully tease the sensitive bundle of nerves 
there, knowing exactly how to play me.  When he takes 
my clit between his middle and forefinger and gives a 
gentle tug, it wrings a helpless moan from my throat.

I turn my head and start nibbling on his neck.  
Actually, my "nibbling" is hard enough to leave teeth 
marks.  He makes a sound low in his throat and pounds 
me harder, his fingers working me faster.  The 
pleasure is almost consuming.  I feel my eyes start 
to roll to the back of my head.

But there is something important missing.  Something 
I desperately want...need.  "Mulder...Mulder," I say, 
trying to get his attention.  He doesn't realize 
this; he thinks I'm trying to spur him on.  My voice 
is reedy, a little shaky, owing to the somewhat 
jarring force my body is at this moment being 
subjected to.  "Mulder...stop," I groan.

That gets his attention, and he stops suddenly.  I 
almost sob from the loss of sensation, almost change 
my mind and tell him to take us both where we want to 
go.

"What's wrong, Scully?" he is breathing in great 
gulps, and I know how difficult it must have been for 
him to stop.  His brow creases in worry.

"Nothing, Mulder...I just want to see you," I explain 
a little breathlessly.  I adjust my position, causing 
him to slip out of me.  He gives an unintentional 
cry, sounding so forlorn that I quickly put my arms 
around him.  I know how you feel, sweetheart.

Turning around completely, I pull him on top of me.  
I love the feel of his body, hard and strong, between 
my legs.  There's nothing in the world quite like it.  
I wrap my legs high on his waist, opening myself up.  
I wonder what he is waiting for.

He's still looking at me with that look like he 
doesn't know what he's supposed to do next.  I raise 
my hips.  "Come =on=, Mulder," I say impatiently, 
urging him.  All the breath seems to leave his lungs, 
and he sinks into me again.

I love the expression on his face.  His eyes are 
glazed over with lust, his hair is flopping into his 
eyes, and his mouth is twisted into a grimace - quite 
attractive, really - that is a combination of the 
pain of holding back and the pleasure he is 
receiving.

The muscles of his shoulders bunch as he holds 
himself above me, and I grab his arms - his strong, 
unyielding arms - just because I like to feel the 
play of the muscles under his skin when he's making 
love to me.

"Scully...Scully," he gasps, sleepy voice all but 
gone.  He kisses my forehead, my eyes.  His tongue 
darts out and licks my lips.  This is normally about 
the time when the "oh yeah honey"s and the "you feel 
so fucking good"s start.  Sometimes it's just a 
really wet, really obscene, makes-my-toes-curl kiss 
where his tongue makes intimate friends with my 
tonsils.

But unbelievably, instead of doing any of those 
things, all of which I love, by the way, he brings 
his head down and touches his nose to mine.  Before I 
am even able to process this fact, he proceeds to 
give me an Eskimo kiss, rubbing our noses together 
gently, back and forth.  His eyes close.  "I love 
you, baby."

Suddenly I feel like bursting into tears.  I may 
never know what it feels like to have my offspring 
growing inside of me, but I know how it feels to 
create life.  And it is just as magical and beautiful 
as everyone says.  Every moment we spend together, 
Mulder and I, we are creating life - his and mine.

The combination of this stimuli, with Mulder's lower 
body pushing deeply into me, takes me over the edge 
and I'm gone.  Nothing penetrates the orgasmic fog 
that I'm in - not the rain, not Mulder's groans of 
ecstasy, not his sweaty forehead resting on mine as 
he drives himself toward completion.  But oh, oh, 
when he spills his life into me, I can feel it...I 
feel it traveling from the center of my being to my 
nerve endings, my brain cells, all my vital organs, 
filling my veins with his life.

I enjoy how Mulder and I both take our time in 
floating back to earth.  After all, it just shattered 
moments ago - it's not rebuilt so quickly.  After our 
erratic breathing has returned to normal, he places a 
wet kiss on my lips, and tries to roll off of me.  I 
won't let him.

"I'm crushing you," he protests, but I notice he 
doesn't put up much of a fight.  His body weight is 
completely on mine, his arms having found their way 
under the pillows where my head is resting.  He 
burrows his face into my neck, and I sigh 
contentedly.

Suddenly, the thunderbolt of memory shoots an array 
of sights and sounds through my mind.  It is 
fractured at best, but I recall now an incident from 
childhood when I had gotten lost walking home from 
school.  

There are times in my life when I remember that 
terror, that fear of feeling that I'd lost my way, 
and those feelings threaten to choke me when I least 
expect it.  I rarely have those feelings anymore, and 
especially not when I'm with Mulder.  Which is why 
it's so curious that I should recall it now, wrapped 
securely in his arms, in his bed, watching the rain 
sleet against his bedroom windows.

Fragments of my dreams reveal themselves.  A message 
awaits me, one it is imperative I understand.  There 
is a feeling blossoming in me, as if some mystery has 
been solved, that the last piece of the puzzle has 
just fallen into place.  A dream is an answer to a 
question we haven't learned to ask.  I feel a slight 
smile curve my mouth.  Mulder isn't the only one who 
can solve things in his sleep.

Maybe if I take advantage of this post-coital 
lethargy, letting this tide of memory wash over me, 
I'll be able to capture the elusive.

~~~~~~~~
My mother assured me when I got home that I was safe.  
I was home.

But I didn't quite believe her.  And I have never 
felt quite the same way about "home" ever since.

I have lived in many places in my life, many towns 
and cities in many states.  But I don't know that I 
ever truly called any of those places home.

Certainly, if any place came close to being home to 
me, it was where my mother was.  But somewhere deep 
inside was the unsettling awareness that it wasn't 
fully what I was looking for.  I didn't know exactly 
what that was, but I knew what it wasn't.

I tried to dispel such disquieting feelings, but they 
always remained, lurking, just beneath the surface.  
You don't really belong here Dana, they said.  You're 
supposed to be somewhere else.

I looked all over for that somewhere else.  Like many 
that feel lost, I experimented with who I was, hoping 
to find a niche, a place to belong.  But no matter 
what I did, it appeared that I was destined to be 
exactly who I was: Dana Scully, straight-laced, 
loyal, and a rule-player.  I didn't like stepping out 
of boundaries, not wanting to lose myself - which is 
what I felt would happen.  Those times that I did, 
the feelings of wild exultation, thrills, and 
excitement never lasted.  They were simply replaced 
by guilt when the real Dana Scully surfaced again.

For a long time, I accepted that I was a nomad.  I 
wouldn't be happy in one place, I told myself.  
Somewhere along the way, that changed.  There =was= a 
place that I was destined to be, a place where I 
could be happy for the rest of my life.

Someone began dropping breadcrumbs in my path.  
Without conscious realization, I began to follow the 
trail they formed.

I have been on that course for quite some time now.
~~~~~~~~

Mulder, typically, is struggling with consciousness.  
I'm pretty sure he's losing the battle.  I love him 
for trying to stay awake, even though I know he's 
already halfway gone to shake hands with Mr. Sandman.  
"What're you thinking about?" he asks, the words just 
a rumble in my ear.

"Have you ever heard the story of Hansel and Gretel?" 
I ask, caressing his back.

He takes the bizarre introduction well.  "Yeah.  The 
dad leads them into the forest and ditches them 
there."  I think I detect a hint of acerbity in his 
tone.  We'll have to explore that one later.

"Yes," I agree.  "But Hansel leaves a trail of 
breadcrumbs to lead the way back home."

"Is this another not-so-subtle-reprimand because I 
ate that pita in bed, Scully?"

I smile because he can't see it with his face 
burrowed in my neck. "I always thought about the 
futility of it all.  If only Hansel had used pebbles 
instead of bread.  If only he'd marked the trees as 
they went along."  For some reason, my throat is 
feeling a little constricted.  I pause so that I can 
gather my thoughts a little.  This has to come out 
right.

Mulder thinks he should say something.  "Well, you're 
probably right, Scully.  If he'd used pebbles, they 
would have found their way back."

I move my head back and forth on the pillow.  "If 
they had gone back...they wouldn't have been worthy 
of a story.  They wouldn't have been able to see and 
eat an enchanted candy house or outsmart a witch or 
rescue each other from the clutches of certain death.  
They would have gone back to their boring house where 
they knew they weren't wanted, weren't necessary."  
My voice is soft.  "They would have missed out on all 
that."

"I know you have a point, Scully."  Mulder's voice is 
definitely drowsy.  "Would you kill me if I asked you 
to get to it a little faster?  Otherwise, I can't 
promise to be the most attentive of audiences."

"I should have been looking harder Mulder, for the 
breadcrumbs you keep trailing at my feet."  A few 
tears slip unchecked down my face, silent and 
cleansing.  I begin to run my fingers softly through 
his hair.

In our time together, no matter how hard I tried to 
reason with his sense of direction, or rationalize 
the use of pebbles as opposed to bread, he diligently 
went ahead and kept making that trail.

It really doesn't matter that the trail is made of 
breadcrumbs and may be eaten by birds along the way.  
It doesn't matter, because all the crumbs that are 
eaten are behind us - and the point isn't to go back.

Those proverbial breadcrumbs are what I've been 
looking for almost all my life.  Not necessarily to 
follow, but to have the luxury of finding solace in 
their presence, to take comfort in the intent behind 
their placement.  

Mulder and I both have breadcrumbs in our pockets.  
Not to lead us back to where we came.  Not to lead us 
to where we are going.  But to guide us to each 
other.  There will never be birds fast enough to pick 
up that trail between the two of us, walking so close 
together.

"I was also thinking of home," I add.  The 
kaleidoscopic array of words and images from my 
dreams form a complex yet simple revelation, and I 
want to share it with him.  It is freeing, like 
soaring through the sky and witnessing a sunburst.

I know where I belong.  By this man's side.  What is 
amazing is the knowledge that I have been there for 
so long.

"When I was a little girl I got lost while trying to 
find my way home."  My voice is husky with unshed 
tears.  "I've been lost for a long, long time."  

There is silence, and I wonder if he's already 
tumbled into the land of Zs.

"Oh," he says finally.  I hear the hurt in his voice, 
though he struggles to mask it in nonchalance.  I 
smile and feel the tears subside.  He doesn't 
understand.  Not yet.  But I explain everything else 
to him; why should this be any different?  

I indulge myself by kissing the top of his head, 
enjoying the feel of his hair against my lips and 
basking in the sweet, musky smell of Mulder for a 
moment.

"But you found me." I wrap my arms around him tightly 
and hug him so hard that he emits a small "oof" of 
surprise.

I am radiant.  "And now...now I think I've finally 
found my way."

End 2/2

Missing parts?  Write narida_law@hotmail.com

~~~~~~~~
For the full text go to:
http://www.angelfire.com/ms/naridalaw
~~~~~~~~

Hugs and besos to: Lena, Robbie, Shannon, Trixie, for 
betawork.  Thanks to Paulette, for the idea that 
revamped this fic.  I owe you big time!  And to 
Louise, who convinced me that I could do it.  She 
personally thwacked me upside the head and trampled 
on the first uh...twelve drafts, and even though it 
still isn't completely to her liking, I love her for 
her tireless efforts to make me better myself.

Thanks, as always, for reading!