Title: The Celine Series - I Don't Know (1/1) Author: CC Decker Email: Oh, God, please, email me, people! If you even read it, please email me! I make it a policy to email comments for *every* piece of fan fiction I read, and I think it would be a happier world if everybody did this. Please, please, please, please, email me at ! I will forever love you if you do! Classification: TRA Rating: NC-17 for extreme violence. Summary: Inspired by the short story "A Most Dangerous Game," Mulder and Scully are kidnaped and turned loose on an island to be hunted for sport by a psychotic man. Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance, hunting, trust Spoilers: Um . . . I don't think so! Disclaimer: Aw, boy, one of my favorite parts! Let me get something clear. I have NO MONEY. If Fox Broadcasting, Ten Thirteen Productions, or Chris Carter wants to sue me, they'll be wasting their time, and being rather ungrateful. (After all, not once, but *twice* I went down on my knees at Chris Carter's feet during an X-Files convention and cried "We're not worthy, we're not worthy!" The least he can do is let me borrow the characters. I'm not making a cent off of them!) Also, Celine Dion's song, "I Don't Know," isn't mine. "A Most Dangerous Game" was written by some guy, and it isn't mine either. But then again, my story isn't *that* similar to "A Most Dangerous Game," so he shouldn't complain. But I digress. . . . AUTHOR'S NOTE: WARNING, PLEASE READ! I don't want to steal any dramatic impact from my own story, but there is a section of extreme violence of a certain nature that might disturb some people. If you don't want to read it, turn back now. If not, you've been warned. I love feedback, but please, don't get angry at me if you continue to go on. Wow . . . is it me, or are my intros getting longer and longer? Anyway, on with the story! "I Don't Know" The winds of the heart can blow me down But I get right up and I stand my ground I've tasted fear, my share of pain The wasted tears of love in vain I've held you tight, pushed you away Now with all my heart, I beg you to stay I know what I want, I know what I need But there's just one thing I must believe Deep in the night by a dying flame You will be there when I call your name I'm sure I could face the bitter cold But life without you, I don't know "I Don't Know," Celine Dion Somewhere on the North Pacific coast 5:49 P.M., March 4 The blast of a shotgun cracked the silence behind her. Almost instantaneously a tree branch one foot over her head exploded, sending shards of wood raining down. Blind panic consumed her. Every limb, every muscle in her body was working together in an effort to preserve her life, which was in absolute danger now. There was no logic. No rational thought. The only possibility was that running faster may prolong her health. "Scully!" A dark form leapt from the brush beside her, tackling her into a tree opposite. A large familiar hand clamped over her mouth, and she was dragged deep through the brush into a thicket. "We need to run, we can't hide," she hissed at her partner as he removed his hand. "He thinks you're running for cover on the north shore. You'd be an idiot not to. And if there's one thing Charles Murphy does not think you are, it's an idiot." "We have to run!" "We have to wait!" He held her tightly in his arms, pushing their bodies into the shadows. Seconds later, the footsteps of their predator were moving toward them with the trained ease of a natural hunter. If he found them now, they would die. She pressed against his body, feeling his arms tightening protectively around her. They were trembling statues as the man moved, poised with his gun, only a few feet away. The brush was barley concealing them. If Charles Murphy decided to turn, or explore, it would be a bullet for each of them. But the man passed by without disturbing the surrounding terrain. He was dressed in full Great White Hunter garb, complete with the African safari hat and moustache. In his arms he carried an antique hunting riffle. There was an antique pistol at his belt, a knife at his boot. He was alone, but they knew better than to underestimate him. Charles Murphy may be crazy. Charles Murphy was most certainly dangerous. But Charles Murphy was not stupid. They stayed frozen in the bushes for many minutes after he passed, silent as dear, as still as trees. It wasn't until her muscles went numb, then painfully prickly, did Special Agent Dana Scully of the Federal Bureau of Investigation move from Special Agent Fox Mulder's arms. "We should go the way he came," he said to her as she shakily stood. She nodded, offering a hand to help him up. She was a bit embarrassed by panicking, but considering she had been seconds away from getting shot . . . "He leaves the island every evening." Mulder continued. "I know you just had a close scrape with him, but you need to think logically." She nodded again weakly. Murphy left his island every evening at sundown by helicopter and had been doing so for the last three days he had been hunting them. The discomforts of hunting only went so far, she supposed. Then it was time to go back to his mansion on the mainland. "There he goes," she said as the helicopter roared above their head. The man was leaning half out of it, scanning the woods. But they were beneath trees and not visible. "We'll be all right, Scully. We've managed to stay out of that bastard's way for the last three days." She said nothing, only pulled her backpack from her shoulders and settled it heavily on the ground. Here was as good a place as any to start a smokeless fire and settle down for the night. ************************* It had all started with Mulder wanting to check out a lead on a string of missing persons. A call had come into the office, requesting that he and Scully meet the informant at an abandoned movie theater. They had arrived, and were immediately and without pretense shot down and drugged with dart guns. They had woken up side by side on this island, the forest leaves above them, their weapons and cellular phones stripped from them, but otherwise in exactly what they had been wearing before. Mulder was still in his suit and tie, and she was in a thin business blouse and skirt with high heels. It wasn't until the bitter cold began nibbling at her skin did she realize what an unwitting mistake it had been to remove her jacket earlier in the warm car. She had sat up uncertainly. Mulder was still out cold beside her, the dart wound in his neck not looking severe enough to warrant concern. She had paused for a moment, studying her surroundings. There was a complete lack of the sounds of civilization. No cars, planes, nothing. For a moment she sat in stupefied shock before running her hands along her body. She was looking for any kind of abrasion, bruise, bump, or scar, but she was in perfect health, apart from the dart wound. Her confusion mounted. She remembered nothing but the damn theater and pulling something out of her neck . . . And then she saw the note. "Welcome my friends, "I am sure you are confused about your whereabouts, and what has happened to you in the last forty-eight hours. You are on Murphy Island, off the coast of Canada in the northern Pacific Ocean. I am Charles Murphy, and I have an interesting plight. You see, I am a big game hunter. I have traveled to Africa, Asia, the North . . . anywhere to find a creature that could elude me, that would challenge my superior skill. Alas, no such animal exists. "It was a short story that gave me the brilliant idea of hunting humans. "People are much harder to hunt. They are smart. Intelligent. Resourceful. I have been importing human beings to my island for my sport for the last six months, and I have been delighted with the results. First it was just vagabonds, homeless people, or runaway teenage kids, all easy layabouts that were not noticed missing. However, these people were quite easy to kill as well. So I have become more ambitious. "I have never had the pleasure of hunting a woman, my dear Dana, but you'll do nicely. I quite enjoy your looks. Perhaps your death will not be the only thing I hunt for. It will be my pleasure. As for you, Fox, you came highly recommended. You have two days to familiarize yourselves with my sizable island. There are provisions one mile east of where you were dropped off. Welcome, to my most dangerous game. "Charles Murphy" When Mulder had woken up, she showed him the note. He had the same reactions he did. He had almost been too shocked to speak. To be hunted down? As an animal? The last two days had been hell. A horrible, nightmarish hell. They had received another note from Murphy telling them of the 'rules'; how he used only traditional weapons and left every night to return to his warm home. It had been with the provisions he had spoken of in his first note. And his behavior when he landed showed that he was not interested in reasoning, and was very ruthless. They had spent the last two days literally running. ************************** She stared into the new evening's fire. Dinner had consisted of canned peaches from the provisions stated in the note, and the fire's fuel was green wood . . . smokeless. Scully studied her partner. His features were regretful over the blur of the flames. His dark brown hair was messy, a light shadow brushing his f ace. Of course, it had been a few days since he had shaved. But it was actually kind of attractive . . . Wait . . . what was she thinking?! "Mulder?" His eyes tore away from the flames to meet hers. She didn't want to see the tortured misery in their brown depths, but it was there, impossible to ignore. She knew he blamed himself for getting them kidnaped. "It wasn't your fault," she began. It was the conversation they had been avoiding the last two days. "I should have been more careful." She shivered as the wind picked up, the chill intensifying the already low temperatures. The day had been colder than the two earlier. Only the sunlight had kept the briskness away, but now as the sun was setting, the temperature was dropping steadily. "It's getting colder," Mulder finally commented. "Scully, please, take my jacket. You refused the last couple of days, and now I insist." "No." "Please?" "No." Mulder stared at her over the fire, but she refused to back down. It wasn't that she didn't desperately want the jacket (she did), it was that she didn't want to fall into the traditional gender roles. She had hacked it in the Boy's Club for years . . . she would not concede defeat now. She was his equal. "Your loss," he finally said, putting the jacket on the ground. "I didn't even want it." That was a complete lie, of course, but she was touched that he was willing to forgo his comfort as well, all for her pride. She smiled appreciatively and stared into the flames again, moving closer to the warmth. But they still had an important issue to discuss. "Please stop blaming yourself, Mulder. I was as stupid as you were. I went with you instead of trying to talk you out of it. I knew the risks." "I keep getting you in trouble." Mulder suddenly stood up and stepped around the fire to sit beside her. She was surprised as he took her hand. And she couldn't quite quell the sudden flutter in her chest as he touched her. "That's all right. If there was anybody I had to die with on an island, it would be you," she said before she thought. "Seriously?" The surprise on his face was obvious. God, what had she said?! She had to back it with a joke. "No, I'd take Pierce Brosnan or Brad Pitt . . ." she continued lamely. He sent her a hard stare, then smiled, and they chuckled together. She wasn't even aware he was still holding her hand until he gently squeezed it. "Seriously though. I don't know how we're going to get off this island. I know we need to keep morale up, but if we don't get off, I want to tell you . . ." "We are going to get off," she interrupted. Even still, she couldn't help but tremble at the thought of being hunted down like an animal, unarmed, practically defenseless. "I know. Dana . . ." "If you get to call me 'Dana', I get to call you 'Fox'," she interrupted. He smiled, dropping his head to avoid her gaze. "Fair enough. Scully, I . . . we have to facts. I've never told you how much your friendship and support has meant to me. You are the only person I trust. You really are my best friend. I never thought . . . that I'd have to tell you that, but here, we could die and you would never know . . ." he trailed off uncertainly. She went silent, wondering how she should respond. She stared into his eyes for a long moment, then turned away from him, resisting the urge to lean into him for warmth and comfort. A friend. That was all she was to him. But then, it had always been that way. It was the stress of the survival situation, nothing more. Studies had shown that such a situation could create false emotions. He dropped her hand when she didn't respond. "I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said, pulling away to settle on the other side of the fire. "You didn't. Thank you . . . Fox," she said hesitantly. They stared at each other for a second, then he dropped his eyes. "Well, good night then," he said, moving to the other side of the fire to lie on the dirt. She laid down as well. "Goodnight." But sleep didn't come easily. She stared into the fire for some time, thinking about what Mulder had said. He was her best friend as well. Everything he said about here was true about him. But it was uncharacteristically like him to mention it. Perhaps he really didn't think they would make it out of here alive. That he had better say it while he still could. A frigid wind suddenly picked up, whisking over her body, sending chills through her thin blouse into her skin, her very soul. She moved as close to the fire as she dared. Damn her for taking her damn jacket off in the car. She was so cold . . . the blouse was more for decorative purposes than anything else. She shivered, curling into as tight a ball as she could to ward off the freezing temperatures. It had gotten so damn cold so quickly. Scully heard rather than saw her Mulder stand up. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to embarrass him if this was a bathroom break. But he surprised her by stepping around the small fire to stand above her. She continued to pretend to be asleep, wondering what he would do. A moment late, she sensed him kneel down, and a gentle warmth suddenly covered her body as he draped his jacket over her. Then, without a word, he stood up, went back to his side of the fire, and laid down to go to sleep. Her first thought was to rise and give him his jacket back, along with a tongue lashing, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the soft warmth that spread through her body, the gentle feminine awareness that stirred in her. Perhaps . . . perhaps there was something to be said for traditional gender roles, after all. She knew it was sentimental, but she couldn't push away the tears that filled her eyes. ********************* "You didn't have to do this for me," she said the next morning, giving Mulder his jacket back. "But . . . thank you." Mulder nodded, a little embarrassed. "You needed it more than I did," he said softly. She looked so frail . . . Her brilliant red hair was plastered flat against her head, and there were smudges of dirt marring her perfect creamy complexion. Her thin blouse was wrinkled and torn in multiple places, stained with blood from the thorny claws of tree branches. Her high heel shoes were splattered with mud. Though it had only been two days without proper nutrition, Dana was already looking too thin. But still incredibly beautiful. He pushed as hard as he could, but it was impossible to press away the emotions he felt for her. The continuous urge to touch her, to cradle his face in her hands, to brush her lips with his own. The desire to hold her was overwhelming. Maybe because he had never acted on it when they had been safe. And maybe because they had never been in danger together before for any length of time. With every second that passed he was getting more worried that a bullet might rip into her before he could tell her how much he cared. He wasn't even sure if it was love. He supposed it didn't matter. "I know. But we can't just sit here. Maybe we can make spears or something . . . dig a trap?" She asked hopefully, opening a can of pears with a hand can opener they had found. Something inside him gave a deep, thrusting punch at his heart. Scully knew as well as he did that what she was proposing was impossible. It showed the desperation in her heart that she had even mentioned it. "I hate just waiting for him," he suddenly said, standing up. "What can we do? Nothing. You heard the guy. We have no chance!" "I'm not just going to wait her to die!" She snapped, leaping to her feet. "I'm going to get that bastard. With or without you." "I'm not saying we should go quietly," he said, surprised at her outburst. But as he looked around at their situation, he couldn't squelch his sarcasm. "You're right. Let's make some goddamn spears. Let's build a wooden tank and a whole goddamn fort! How are we going to chop these trees down? Or sharpen the points?" He hated himself. As if their present situation wasn't bad enough, he had to inflame her. "Stop. At least I'm trying to do something." He paused, studying her again. She was terribly frightened, though she was trying not to show it. And she was shivering in the brisk morning air, holding her arms against her body to keep warm. Her whole right side was covered in dirt, and she didn't look much better for the hard night on the cold ground. But he couldn't help it. Her features were so delicate, her spirit so unbreakable. It hurt him to see her suffering even slightly. "Scully, don't mess with me," he said firmly, putting his jacket over her shoulders. "But Mulder . . ." "Don't," he said, putting his finger on her lips. The gesture surprised both of them. He hastily pulled his hand away, and after a moment of hesitation she slipped her arms into his jacket. The sleeves were impossibly long, but he ignored that. Her petite frame was completely engulfed in his jacket. It was hard to ignore, though, how endearingly beautiful she looked as she stood up straighter and plowed into the woods. He shook away the thoughts that entered his head. He wasn't in love with Scully, it was the stress and tenseness of the situation. Then again, he had to admit the emotions he felt for her were stronger than just friendship. He couldn't fall in love with her. No. But he also couldn't die without her knowing how much he cared about her. He had never felt this way about a woman before. Women were girlfriends to him . . . but never *friends*. In other relationships, he had been constantly on his guard, making sure the woman never got too dangerously close to him, that he kept his barriers carefully in place for the day when one of them would leave. But Scully was different. She worked her way into his heart through her sheer . . . Scullyness. He couldn't pinpoint what it was that he loved. Her physical beauty was a bonus, but not a cause. Her determination had saved his life and irritated the hell out of him. But it was a combination of all things that made him care. Or was that just friendship, albeit deep friendship, making itself known? It was impossible to tell. Not when every thought had to be focused on the forested landscape around them. He wondered. But then, there was a very soft buzz on the horizon, breaking his thoughts. They both froze, staring frightfully into the trees. "We have to go," Mulder said, grabbing her arm. They scuffed up the fire, slipped the backpacks over their shoulders, and dashed into the woods. "Where are we going?" She whispered. "I don't know yet." Any cover they could find was probably already mapped out and possibly set with traps. They had been incredibly lucky over the last few days to have escaped Murphy. But maybe today would be different. Again his heart gave a rapid thud against his breast bone, but he ignored it. "There's cover in the caves on the shore," Scully said, breaking the silence. "When we explored them there were so many passages to hide in." "I know. But that would be what he's expecting us to do." "So?!" She suddenly halted, staring at him. "What is he going to do, Mulder?! You're the damn psychologist! What is he going to do?!" Mulder stopped, turning to her. She looked absolutely furious, and frightened, and lovely. What was he going to do about her? He wasn't going to let her get hurt. Not if he had to step in front of the bullet . . . Now where on earth had *that* thought come from? "I don't know," he said simply, answering both their questions. "But you're right. We have to make a counter offensive attack. Otherwise, it'll only be a matter of time." She nodded, regaining her composure. "So, he has two guns, and we don't. If we ambush him, one of us might get shot. To say the least of not being able to get off the island." "Scully, we will get shot eventually if we don't take risks." "You're right. I just don't want . . ." but she abruptly cut herself off, starting again into the brush. Mulder didn't have to be psychic to know what the rest of her sentence was. She didn't want to be caught alone by Charles Murphy. "Maybe we could ambush him at his helicopter," he suggested. "That might work. He landed on the other side of the island. It'll take him a while to find us again anyway." They walked for a while in silence before Scully voiced another idea. "Maybe the western shore. The one with the cliff and the rocky beach? He'd never suspect we'd go there. Nobody could get down that cliff." "Definitely wouldn't look for us there," he agreed. "Only one problem, Dana. We can't get down that cliff either." She didn't seem to think it odd he had used her first name. "Maybe there's a way." "But can we risk getting caught there?" "No." She sighed, her shoulders slumping. To see the pain in her eyes destroyed him. He would kill Charles Murphy with his bare hands. Scully was such gentle huntress - always trying to battle against the criminal element - how dare this bastard try to harm her! They continued walking, and he tried to keep his mind off of her. Then, he just couldn't stand it anymore. Flashes of her lying dying in his arms were too powerful to ignore. "Scully," he asked tentatively. "Is there anything you really regret? Doing or not doing? I mean, if we don't get off the island, we kind of have to confess to each other." The silent voice inside taunted. She was walking beside him, looking straight ahead, her face slightly lifted. Her expression immediately became one of intense internal scrutiny. "Yes. There are things I definitely regret. There are so many things I have always wanted to try. But more than that . . . I wish I had spent more time with my brothers' families. I wish . . ." But from the way she trailed off into silence he knew better than to pry. "What about you?" She returned. His heart and mind were prepared to say it, but his lips chickened out. "I'd regret not having enough time. We're so close to breaking everything, Scully, to finding the truth. I'd regret all the lies I've been telling and listening to." "I would regret not having a personal life," she suddenly said, looking ahead. "Not having . . ." "What?" But she shook her head. "It'll sound pathetic." "Okay, I'll say a pathetic regret, and then you say yours. I regret never having gone out with a Playboy playmate." "That is pathetic." "Your turn." Scully watched him, then smiled. "I'd regret not ever having found a true love, as corny as it sounds. Never having kids. I mean, I don't want them now, but it would have been nice to have had some at a later point in my life. My life has been all work. I wish there had been some love." He stopped, taking her shoulders in his hands to turn her to him. He wanted to lift her face up to his, and tell her that there was a man that really did love her, but it was impossible to do now. "You're not dead yet. Don't begin speaking of yourself in the past tense," he said instead. "I know." She shook her head. "It is pathetic, isn't it? Regretting not having a man in my life to love and love me back. Hell, it's pathetic I told you that." "No, it's not, Scully. I have almost the same problem . . ." ************************** The days had passed uneventfully. Charles Murphy had been tricked by their backtracking plan, and when they heard his helicopter roar overhead away from them, Scully couldn't but help breathe a long sigh of relief. The ominous black clouds of a storm brewing above their heads, however, did not raise their morale. The situation was looking grimmer every minute. It had taken almost three more days to explore only half the island, and Scully was rapidly becoming even more disheartened. Each night it was blistering cold, even with a fire and Mulder's jacket. Each day was spent plowing through heavy forested growth in search of anything they could use to retaliate. She was more exhausted than she had ever been in her life. Her shoes were destroying her feet, her clothing was filthy, her hair a ragged mess. She'd give anything for a hot shower and two hours in a warm bed. And she had no idea what to do about Mulder. Her emotions had to be a result of the situation. But she had never felt this way about anyone before. Her love for Fox . . . oh god, no. "Maybe we could just find a place and wait him out," she said to Mulder, who was pushing through the brush in front of her. She would try to distract herself. She was being ridiculous. "No, it'll just turn into a game of hind-and-go-seek. He knows we're on this island. He isn't about to just walk away." "Damn," she said, partly in reply to Mulder's comment, but mostly to the thorn bush that tore a tiny chunk in her arm, right through the blouse. Mulder halted and turned to her, holding her arm to examine the fresh cut. She couldn't help herself. The gentle look of concern on his face touched her. She had tried multiple times to push away the stirring deep within her, but it was impossible. Mulder's kindness in giving her his jacket, in watching over her so carefully, in touching her so tenderly . . . No. Absolutely not. No. If she didn't think it, she wouldn't have to deal with it. Because Mulder didn't return . . . he didn't . . . wasn't . . . She enjoyed Mulder's touch on her arm. The look in his eyes. The inner strength he had. And, for the first time, his life was truly on the line. Granted, it had been before, but she had always sensed his eventual safety. Now, he could be dead in days. She could be completely alone on this damn island with nothing but a rapist murderer as company. Mulder couldn't die. She desperately needed him. It was inevitable. After almost four years of arguing with his weird notions, saving his life, having hers saved by him, it was too much to push away. "Just a scratch," Mulder said, releasing her arm. He paused for a moment, looking down at her. Then, suddenly, her face was in his hands. "Don't say anything yet," he said urgently. "Just let me finish what I have to say. I've been thinking about it for three days, and I've decided I don't want to die without your knowing. I mean, I know you don't, but I have to tell you. I can't die without your at least knowing. I don't want to upset you, but I could never forgive myself if . . ." "What?" She asked, completely bewildered. "You're babbling." "I love you. At least, I think I do." There was a dead second in time, perhaps five dead seconds. "You didn't just say that," she said carefully. But her heart was pounding mercilessly in her chest. She had no idea . . . was utterly shocked . . . "I did, Dana. I know you don't return it or anything, but I needed to tell you in case I, in case we didn't . . . I mean . . . I didn't realize it before because I've never had to see you at risk, not like this, I mean. Not when I could do something about it. I don't expect you to act any differently or anything . . . but you sort of grew on me, Scully. I'm sorry . . ." "You're still babbling," she said. He stared at her a second longer, not releasing her face. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, leaning down to tenderly kiss her forehead. Her mind was racing. Mulder . . . doing this . . . The sudden revelation his her like a missile from Cupid's tank. He returned her exact feelings! And it had surfaced in the exact manner hers had. The only difference was that he had the courage to say anything about it. So, she did the most natural thing she could think of. She tilted her face up to intercept his lips with her own. He pulled her into his arms instantly, brushing her lips with a gentleness that surprised her. She settled her hands on his face, the light four day beard delightfully scratchy beneath her finger tips. This was heaven. But . . . there was . . . something was bothering . . . "Wait no," she said, pulling back. He immediately released her, as if she had burned him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have . . ." The crushed expression on his face as he pushed away hurt even her, and she knew everything was fine. "No, you idiot. I care about you as much as anyone possibly could. I just . . . I want to make sure this is real." "Real?" "That this isn't just the stress of being here." She stood up straighter, regaining her composure, even though her lips were still burning. "Studies have shown that in many survival situations, formerly platonic relationships intensified in an effort to -" He cut off her litany but pulling her into his arms again, insistently plying her lips apart with his own. It was enough of an answer for her. They simply held each other, kissing tenderly before Mulder broke away from her. "We have to keep moving," he said, close to her ear. "I know," she whispered back, absolutely delighted. He took her hand, and she could only barely believe the sudden change in the circumstances. Mulder really did care for her? She had found someone? But his hand enveloping hers said it all. It was solid proof. "Ladies first," he said as they approached a large wooded log. He held her hand as she scrambled over the top, dropping abruptly into the brush below. She heard the snap rather than felt it. There was a dull thump on her ankle, then a brain shattering shock wave of pain. She tripped forward, losing her balance. "Dana!" Mulder's grip on her arm was strong enough that she didn't fall flat on her face, but she fell halfway. He caught in a second, but she couldn't think of anything but the wrenching pain in her left foot. She twisted, and found her ankle interlocked in the clamp of a steel jaw trap. The fangs were digging into the delicate flesh, and the pressure was incredible. The lock was chained to the log. "NO!" She cried, falling back into his arms. "No, not now!" Mulder followed her gaze, letting go of her to touch her knee, then her foot. "We need to get this off," he said. "Just hold still." She was trying desperately to hold her cries in, but she could feel the teeth ripping apart the tissue in her ankle, grinding against the bone. Mulder's hands settled on the trap, and he began to strain, trying to pull the jaws apart. They wouldn't budge. "Pressure too much," she gasped between clenched teeth. "You can't use your hands . . . special tools . . . I think my ankle is . . . broken . . ." "Okay, I can try prying it apart with a stick. Just hold on a second." He kissed her forehead and moved away. Scully tried to breathe deeply to calm the intense pain, to do anything until Mulder could help her. She tried not to recall the fact that steel-jawed traps could break the legs of most animals, that they were impossible to pry apart, that most animals caught in them died first of starvation before the hunter found them. She closed her eyes tightly to squeeze the tears back. Both Mulder and she would be able to function more adequately if she wasn't distracting him with tears and cries. She clenched her teeth, baring down on the pain. "Well, my dear," said an English voice from behind her. ************************** "Well, my dear," Charles said from the bushes, absolutely gleeful with finding his quarry here. "My ploy in staying on the island to track you has proven quite profitable for me." She twisted around instantly, inadvertently jerking the teeth deeper into her flesh. He couldn't but help draw his breath sharply when her azure eyes went large with doe-like terror. She was so delightfully vulnerable and helpless. "Go to hell, you bastard," she spat, her terror suddenly masked by a front of fury. He chuckled before he could help it. "Not the most polite of introductions, my dear Agent Scully, but it will do. I am Charles Murphy." "I know who you are!" Her hand automatically reached to her hip, but her gun wasn't there. Not that it would have been much use against him. He could easily out-shoot a small woman, FBI agent or not. The chain rattled against the log as she shifted her weight. "And you seem to have stumbled into one of my traps." He walked toward her, keeping the gun pointed at her forehead. She went very still, afraid of him. It was a definitely satisfying position for him. "Where is your partner?" "I don't know," she said sullenly. "We split up." How dare she lie to him! He, who had the guns! Though he had lost track of them a few times while following them today, she and her partner had been together. Her partner had most likely abandoned her to save his own life. And she was trying to lie about it! It was time to put her in her proper place, like all women. He flipped the riffle in his hands, bringing the butt of the gun crashing down into her head. Her faint cry was music. "Don't lie to me, my dear, I was tracking you all day. Your partner is most certainly still with you, if not in the immediate vicinity. If he hasn't left you." Her hand came up and gingerly touched her head, but she seemed to shake off the immediate pain. Keeping her eyes on the ground, she gathered a breath to ask another question. "What did you see of us?" "Not much. I was following your trail, mostly." There was a long silence. "Well, are you going to shoot me now?" The resigned pain in her voice sent thrills of erotic pleasure down his spine and coursing through his body. She was completely at his mercy. "No, not yet." He set the riffle down on the ground, just barely out of her reach. He walked to her, kneeling to release her foot from the trap. He was careful to keep his pistol out of her way as he crouched over her body, pulling a small tool from his belt. She cringed satisfying back against the dirt as he slipped the tool into the trap and began cranking it open again. The flow of blood and the raw nerves were still tearing into her, but at least the horrible pressure should be gone. She pulled her foot free, then suddenly fell back as if the pain was too much. "Such a pity," he said, carefully resetting the trap, "that you got injured. I was enjoying myself throughly." His fingers left the trap and touched her injured ankle, then moved up to her knee. She had delightfully soft skin. He could only imagine what it would be like to feel all of it, at his leisure. "Please don't," she begged, cowering in the dirt. "Why not? I have won. You should simply submit. It is the way of the wild." And it was. She was his to claim now. In his delight of finally capturing his quarry, he did not notice her tensing muscles. She suddenly threw herself at his riffle, twisting from her back to her stomach. Gone was the terror in her body. She had tricked him, the little vixen. He would have to do something about that. Her fingers were barely brushing the cold metal before he was crushing her into the dirt with his knees. The pistol clicked satisfyingly as he rammed it into her neck. She froze beneath him, curling her fingers away from the gun. "Sly," he said. "As I have said before, you, women are intriguing." Especially her tender figure, and the creamy skin he could see of her legs. It didn't take too much to imagine her completely without the grimy remnants of her business suit and Mulder's jacket. He touched the base of her neck, brushing her hair away. Ravishing this creature would be an exquisite experience. "Get your hands off me!" How amusing. "Sh. You wouldn't want me to use this on you now," he said, pressing the gun into her neck again. "That would lessen your chances for escape." Watching her like a starving predator, he rose off his knees, making sure she wasn't going to try anything again. "Get up," he commanded. A second later he wrapped his fingers in her silky hair and jerked her violently upward. She let out a small cry of pain before she scrambled to her knees. That wasn't satisfying. "To your feet." "I can't, my foot was in the . . ." Lying bitch. "I said, to your feet!" He yanked violently on her hair again, trying to pull her weight up. She hesitantly moved onto her uninjured foot, then stood on it, keeping her weight off her left. She was surprisingly small, compared to his tall six foot two. Probably weighed a fraction of what he did. She held absolutely still as he pressed the muzzle of the gun into her back. No sign from her partner. He had most certainly abandoned her. "Please, let me go," she said loudly, her voice wavering. "Sure." That was amusing. He pushed the muzzle harder against her back. "I'll get a first class ticket to send your body back to D.C. . . ." "Why are you doing this?" She cried again loudly. Her terror was very pleasing. "I enjoy it. Now, walk with me." "I can't." "You will do as I say." He pushed her violently forward, forcing her onto her injured foot. It bent instantly beneath her, and she went stumbling to the ground. An obvious ploy for time. "Get up!" "I can't walk!" It was time for a punishment. He struck the butt of the pistol against the back of her head, hopefully filling her vision with a range of stars. "Every time you disobey me, you will be reprimanded," he said. Though he couldn't but help enjoy seeing her blood. "I can't walk!" She screamed, gasping in feigned frustration. She had tricked him once, however, and would not trick him again. He grasped at her partner's jacket, pulling her to her feet again. "I can't walk!" She screamed it for a third time, trying to scramble away. "My foot is broken!" "Fine then, you don't have to." He would have to give her incentive, then. Obviously terrified of what that could mean, she turned to look up at him, barely catching the motion of his foot swinging to her rib cage. The blow robed her of what little air had been in her lungs, crushing a deep hole into her chest. Even he could see that. He slammed his foot into her stomach again, then into her lower stomach, almost between her legs. She curled into a tight little ball, her arms trying to protect her body from his kicks. His boot plowed into her chest, then at her head. The pain must be numbing for her. "Get up." She stumbled to her healthy foot, grasping onto a nearby tree for support. She would obey him. He had taught her who was in control. "Now, walk." She took a step, immediately pretending to lose her balance again. How enraging! He didn't think that anyone, not even a woman, would be stupid enough to keep this charade up. "You disobeyed me," he said quietly. "No! I can't walk!" She turned up to him again, trying to keep the look of utter terror on her face. "My ankle is broken!" Another lie. "I have been watching you, Dana, and I know you can do whatever you want to, when you put your mind to it." "I can't walk on a broken ankle," she gasped. "It keeps giving out." "Perhaps you don't have adequate motivation." He suddenly lunged for the front of her blouse, grasping her collar in his fist, turning her face toward him. His other fist rose behind him, menacingly. This was going to be very enjoyable. "If you touch her again, I will blow your head off," an American voice said quietly from the brush behind them. They both turned. It was Agent Mulder, Dana's partner. Poised in his hands was the antique riffle Murphy had left on the ground. The agent must have snuck around behind them. He was clever, for an American. His eyes were burning with hazel fury, and his face muscles clenched in absolute hatred. So, he had come to claim the woman? No. It would not be allowed. "What's stopping you?" Murphy asked, not releasing her. "Only the fact that I don't want to splatter your blood on my partner. And I don't want your radio to break during your fall. Let her go, you son of a bitch." Mulder's voice was unusually calm, despite the situation. Charles slowly released her, standing up cautiously, his eyes remaining on the gun. He would be able to gain the better of this situation. Two Americans would never overpower him. "Step away from her," Mulder said, gesturing with the gun. "Take the pistol off, and drop it on the ground. The knife too. If you try anything, I will kill you." Charles raised his hands, moving in the direction Mulder indicated, and dropped the weapons on the ground. He would play along until he got a good plan. "Are you all right, Scully?" Mulder asked, not taking his eyes away from the hunter. "I'm fine," she chocked from the ground. "Good. Now, Mr. Murphy, I want you to get on your radio and call your helicopter and have him come pick us up. We're getting off this damn island." "Why should I call? You can't get off the island without my consent," he sneered, though it was a blatant lie. His servants on the mainland were only that. Only his helicopter pilot knew about the prey he had been hunting, and it had cost a lot of money to keep him silent. "You might have the gun, but I still have the power." The woman glanced at Mulder, then reached for Charles's hunting knife. "Because, Mr. Murphy," she said carefully, holding the hunting knife up to test its sharpness, "we Americans tend to follow in the footsteps of our celebrities. Ever heard of the Bobbits?" Charles Murphy stared at her for a long moment. It was enraging, the way she defied him. Just like an American. However, he had no doubt that she would act on her threat. He reached for his radio. ************************** Estate of Charles Murphy 8:27, March 8 "Are you sure you're all right?" Scully was cut off by the crash of thunder and a brilliant flash of lightening. The lamps in the lavish living room dimmed for a moment, then brightened again. The room was decorated as the traditional gentleman's smoking room. "I'm fine, Mulder." Mulder watched as Scully shifted uncomfortably on the couch, keeping her gun carefully trained on Murphy. She was dressed in a T-shirt and a skirt, both on a loan from one of the maids. Pants or shorts would have been too inconvenient with her ankle. Mulder was bandaging her foot, knowing he was completely inadequate but the only one who could do the job for the time being. He touched her knee gently, exchanging a brief, tender glance with her before they both smiled and looked away. The kiss in the forest was almost forgotten. Almost, but not quite. Murphy looked on furiously from the chair he was tied to. The Canadian mainland was a few miles away from the island . . . about as far as Catalina from the West Coast. Murphy's private estate was huge, and so far away from civilization that the only route home involved air travel. Millionaires of his caliber were allowed to be eccentric like that. Communications were out as well, as the storm was interfering with the cellular transmissions. Murphy had many servants, but now Mulder and Scully were packing the weapons, and the servants weren't about to argue. The two maids and the butler had been horrified to discover Murphy's habits. They knew he was a little strange, and enjoyed hunting on his island, but never suspected he was hunting people. Only the helicopter pilot had known anything about Murphy's sick hobby. And it had taken a lot of Murphy's money to keep him quiet. Mulder had wanted to find out more, but Murphy was keeping his mouth shut. In the meantime, Murphy's helicopter to Vancouver was being fueled. All they had to do was wait for the storm that raged outside to abate. The plan was to drug Murphy with sleeping pills to get him to Vancouver. There they would turn in their reports, call hysterical family members, and have Scully's broken ankle attended to. Until then, they would wait. Scully shifted again, reaching for the Tylenol on the coffee table, her face barely twisting with concealed pain. God, she was amazing. So incredibly, exquisitely amazing. The rage refilled his veins as he thought about the needless suffering the man had put Scully through. The way he had kicked her before Mulder had been able to get to them . . . But Mulder resolutely shook his head. He would not think about it, not right now. He didn't want to get out of control. "I need to use the washroom," Murphy said sullenly. "Or don't you Americans even allow that much for your prisoners?" "Hey," Mulder said indignantly. "This coming from the man who turns people loose on his island to be hunted for sport." "Mulder," Scully said warningly. "Just take him." Mulder untied Murphy and gestured with his gun for him to get to his feet. They walked out of the living room and down a hall to the bathroom Mulder had found the medical supplies for Dana in. He let the man go on, then shut the door and stood guard. As the minutes began to tick by, Mulder started to get suspicious. He unhooked the strap to the gun. "Are you all right in there?" He asked, banging on the door. Mulder edged to the side, warily checking to see if Murphy was going to try anything. "Quite. I will come out when I am ready." Murphy was just trying to pschye him out. Mulder waited, growing indifferent, leaning against the door. Maybe Murphy had constipation. "All right," Murphy said, opening the door. He paused for a moment, wiping his brow with a large towel. Mulder's instincts flew up, but it was too late. Murphy snapped the towel downward faster than Mulder could see, and he didn't even have time to close his eyes as spray shot out of the cleaning can. A millisecond later there was a searing wave of atomic heat, burning into his brain. He let out a startled, almost silent cry and reached for his gun, trying to wipe his stinging eyes at the same time. There was a sudden crushing blow to his groin, but even as he continued to pull the gun out, there was another painful impact to his head and everything sank into blackness. ************************** Scully glanced at her ankle again. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the door. Mulder had done everything she had asked him to do, but she was still worried about infection. And with the dull ache that wouldn't leave, it was impossible to think objectively about her injury. She set the gun down on the table and reached again for the glass of water. "We're alone at last," said an arrogant English voice behind her. She lunged for the gun. "Don't even think about it. Turn around." Scully slowly pulled her fingers off the reassuring steel, turning slowly to look at Charles Murphy. He was holding Mulder's gun in his hand, a delighted sneer snaking its way across his face. "Where's Mulder?" She asked, trying to push the panic out of her voice. "He's out for a while." Her heart lodged in her throat, making breathing difficult, but she had to ask the impossible question. "What did you do to him?" "I distracted him and hit him a few times with his own gun. I wanted to tell him what became of you before I killed him." That . . . that could be true. Murphy could do it. She shifted again, trying to press away her terror. Murphy rapidly crossed the room, keeping the gun trained on her. "Pick up your weapon, and movie it to the far side of the table." She did as was told, trying to put together a semblance of a plan. It would be impossible to bolt for her gun. Jesus Christ, what was she going to do? He stepped closer, then set his gun down on one of the tables. She lunged for her gun instantly, but instead of reaching for his he flew at her on the couch. His weight slammed into her, knocking her onto the rug before she could touch the weapon. "Damn it!" She screamed, hating herself for inviting him into a physical fight. His weight was pressing her into the carpet, and her ankle was flaming from the jarring drop. "Help me!" His knee suddenly smashed into her stomach, crushing the bruises and the air from her lungs. She gasped in shocked pain, but before she could draw another breath his fist was descending at her face. The blow almost shattered her consciousness, but she managed to hang on, and began screaming even louder. The blood from her newly split lip flooded into her mouth. With a furious cry she plunged her fingers into his eyes. He howled in pain, then grabbed her by the throat with one hand and her hair in the other, smashing her head into the hardwood floor. She clawed at him desperately, all the while trying to alert the servants. But no one was coming to her aid. His fist smashed into her face again, the blow so hard it immediately numbed the area without the pretense of pain. She saw her vision clouding dangerously, and her muscles were going numb. His hands clenched onto the T-shirt she had borrowed from one of the maids, jerking violently upward. The shirt held as he dragged her away from the couch and across the room to a door she had not wanted to explore: the bedroom. Chairs and tables crashed to the floor as he careened her body into them. A vase shattered over her, shards of glass catching in her hair, her face, her chest. With another desperate move she forced herself to grab his foot, trying to knock him off balance. He immediately let go of her, stepping back. But as she moved to escape, his foot sailed in a swinging arch, catching her directly in the stomach. She crumpled to the floor, a doe that had been struck by the hunter's bullet. Completely unable to breathe, to even struggle. His foot continued to slam into her again and again, kicking at her stomach, her legs, her head, her spine. She chocked back her screams, keeping her arms wrapped around her head. She could *not* lose consciousness. His fists and his feet splintered into her mercilessly. She tried to push away the pain, to think clearly, but it was nearly impossible. Quantico had never taught her how to fight off a man while struggling against the agony of a broken ankle. They had never taught her the special move that could lay a man twelve inches taller than her and a good hundred pounds heavier on the ground. He snatched at her hair, using only the red locks to drag her into the dark bedroom. She thought she wanted to die. Her scalp was searing, her face blazing, her breath gone. But no, she would not go down without a fight. Mulder could die or she could die, and even though she had been praying for blackness seconds before, the surge of life rushed up within her. She grabbed at his hand, sinking her last weapon deep into his wrist . . . her teeth. His startled scream did nothing to lessen her pain, but it was very satisfying. She rolled onto her back, pressing away the agony in her ankle, and smashed both her feet upwards into his stomach, knocking him off balance. For a brief moment, it almost looked as if she had gained an advantage, or at least, equal footing. But he recovered swiftly, baring down on her again, seizing the front of her shirt in his hand, effortlessly lifting her up. Her uninjured foot crushed into his leg as she kicked at him, but there was little that could stop him. With a wordless enraged roar he threw her onto the bed. She lay gasping on her side as he stood at the foot. His intentions were obvious. But every movement, even breathing, was sending tormented tsunamis of agony pulsing through her body. She was going to lose this battle. There was something terrifying about realizing a five-foot two woman with a broken ankle could not defeat a six-foot three man in perfect health. In all the hand-to-hand fighting she had done, at best she had been a worthy opponent. But now, when she most needed to defeat her enemy, she simply could not. The physics of the matter worked themselves out. She was going to lose. But it didn't matter. She would not die without putting everything she had into a fight. "You bastard," she hissed. He merely stood calmly, staring at her. Then, very slowly, he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and slipped out of the boxers he was wearing. She chocked down the instant instinctual terror that coursed through her to see his naked erection. Without hesitation she rolled off the bed, trying to do her best to hop away from him. She nearly sliced the hemispheres of her brain with the pain of the action. But he was as fast as a striking snake, moving at her and grabbing her by the wrists in a second. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he blocked it with his leg, obviously prepared. He rapidly swung her, knocking her off balance, into a dressing couch beside the bed, smashing her stomach over the high back of it. She violently pushed her arms up to throw herself off the couch, but he suddenly bent her over the back of it again, pressing her head into the seat cushions, jerking her completely off her feet. She felt his other hand rip the shirt off, then the skirt. There was no way for her to gain any kind of leverage. There was no way to push up with her arms when he was holding her head down, no way to kick effectively with her legs off the ground. She couldn't move. And she could feel her tight grasp of consciousness loosening. Her body went slack. "About bloody time." She heard above her. His hand slipped over her naked back and to her panties, and he ripped upwards, tearing the fabric over her skin. Her consciousness returned with a shattering jolt as she bit back a cry of pain. He would not have the pleasure of hearing her scream. Only then did he pause. His hand moved over her back and to her buttocks, slipping between her thighs. She forced out more kicks, but his fist smashed into the base of her spine, and he evaded the kicks easily. Before she could kick again, he was behind her, pressing apart her thighs. She could feel his burning heat against her sensitive, exposed skin. She struggled again, trying desperately to do anything. She flailed her arms helplessly, feeling his hands pull her hips into him. She had readied herself of the pain. She had seen rape victims before, and heard their stories. But the ripping penetration caught her totally unaware. He drove into her, smashing tender nerves and ripping tissue, forcing unimaginable torture. He was absolutely merciless as his stabs tore into her, every shove ramming deeper. She clenched her tongue between her teeth to catch her screams, and in a few seconds she was swallowing her own blood. He was truly taking her. She was at his complete mercy. When it came down to it, without the pleasantries of civilization, men really did hold the power over women. "I want to hear you scream!" He cried between gasps. Each cruel thrust brought her closer to losing control. His hands clawed at her hips, drawing blood. The driving rhythm increased, each movement sharpening the waves of torment smashing into her senses. He was crushing her between his body and the couch, crushing her against the fabric. Somehow, it made the pain worse. And with the final stabbing thrusts, she completely lost all control. A scream wrenched itself from her lips before she could repress it. He had completely won. And she couldn't stop screaming at the brutal agony as he climaxed, his body releasing into hers. He pulled out of her, laughing heartily, clawing his hands along her thighs. "I knew you would bend to me," he said, patting her on the back. A second later he wrapped his fingers in her hair and wrenched her off the sofa to her feet, throwing her so hard on the bed she went smashing into the headboard, her fingers rattling the beside table. She offered not the slightest resistance. The burning pain deep within her was too much to battle with. Charles Murphy keep chuckling in the background. She was going to die here like this. He had taken her body, completely defiled her, and now he would take her life. Almost every spot in her body was aching, throbbing, or crying with a pain that had no name. She glanced around, her eyes filling with tears, at the room she was going to end in. Murphy, with another malicious chuckle, walked out of his bedroom into the adjoining bathroom. Then, as she scanned the room, her eyes rested on his beside table. She blinked in utter disbelief. There was no way that 10mm Glock 20 was really sitting there. She reached for it, the reassuring metal very real beneath her fingertips. She slipped it into her hands, pulling the clip out. Fully loaded. Tears of gratitude began streaking down her cheeks. With a snap she pressed the clip back in. "What the hell?" Murphy had walked back in, and was now staring at her in stupefied amazement. She gripped the gun tighter, slowly moving to her knees in the bed, ignoring all the pain. The steel in her hands made that easy. "It's not loaded," he said quickly. He was still naked from the waist down. "Do you think an FBI agent wouldn't be able to tell whether a gun is loaded or not? Put on your damn pants," she snarled, "before I blow your head off." "You Americans and blowing people's heads off," he said mockingly. "Care to explain the obsession?" "Just shut up!" She cried, raising her voice. The balance of power was now completely in her favor. For the first time, she saw fear in his eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to trade that pistol in for this one?" He asked with a leer, pointing at his flaccid penis. "I said, shut up!" She tried to calm herself as he moved slowly toward her, bending to pick up his pants. "It doesn't matter. You can shoot me now." He met her eyes, his psychotic blue wide with feigned innocence. His eyes traveled slowly over her body. "I have already taken what I wanted from you." He paused. "You were good." She lost it. Her first shot struck him in the shoulder, her second in the groin. His cry of pain didn't slow her, it fed her wrath. She wanted to revenge herself. Make him feel the same agony she did. So he could never touch another woman. The bastard had brought it upon himself. Logical thought fled to the deeper and purer utter fury. She kept pulling the trigger, each blast satisfying a need deep within her. For the first time in her life, Dana Katherine Scully was not killing in self preservation, concern, or duty, but in the purity of blinding rage. Murphy completely dropped to the ground, but she couldn't stop. She unloaded the entire clip, all fifteen bullets, before the silent clicking brought her back into her mind. Charles Murphy was very dead. She paused, kneeling on the bed in near disbelief. Then, very slowly, she dropped the gun on the sheets and stumbled to retrieve what was left of her clothing. ************************** "Mulder? Come on, drink some of this. Wake up." A noxious odor under his nose brought him startlingly into the real world. "Oh," Mulder said, grasping his head. The back of his head was throbbing, and his eyes were stinging. His vision kept blurring . . . just a grey blur, then a red blur, then a creamy blur. "Hold still." He felt Scully's fingers on his face, opening one of his eyes with careful precision. A sharp drop stung his eyes again, but the pain lessened shortly after. She repeated with his other eye, and in a few seconds his vision was clearing. Scully was leaning over him, tenderly patting a wet cloth against his forehead, putting a bottle of eye drops back on the table. He gasped in surprise. Her lip had been split, and there were angry purple bruises covering the left side of her face. There were a few light cuts marring her complexion. Other than that, she looked alive and healthy. "What happened?" Scully shifted, avoiding his eyes. "He shot the two maids and the butler. Then he came after me." "But he hit you," Mulder said, touching her cheek. "Yes, we got into a physical fight before I could get to a weapon. This was all the damage he did. But I managed to get to a gun, and I . . ." she shifted and looked down. "I killed him." "But you're all right," Mulder said, studying her. The sweet relief to find her alive and almost well nearly flooded out all other emotions. "I'm fine. He didn't really hurt me that bad. Just a few bruises." "That's good." He leaned back, taking a closer look at her. She had been seriously beaten. The damage was not minimal, as she had been trying to convince him. But then, that was Scully. It didn't matter. Even with the bruises, she was still beautiful. At least Murphy hadn't shattered her cheekbones or broken her nose. And the grey silk blouse brought out the blue in her eyes. For some reason, her hair was wet, as if she had just gotten out of the shower. But that didn't make any sense. "Hey," he said, reaching to touch her hair. "How come -" She moved forward to examine his head as he spoke, suddenly putting the pressure of her hand on his stomach. He gasped at the sore spot she had inadvertently inflamed. Murphy must have kicked him several times after hitting him. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry." He rubbed his stomach, then looked around. He was in one of the guest bedrooms. He dimly recognized it. It was down the hall from the living room, two doors away from where Murphy had gotten him. How Scully had managed to drag him down the hall and into the bed with a broken ankle was beyond him. She really was an amazing woman. He slipped his finger under her chin, studying the damage. "If Murphy wasn't already dead, I'd do it again for what he's done to you." She started in his hands, a look of surprise flickering across her features. Then she pulled back, looking down at her hands. "Thank you, Mulder." "'Fox'," he said, catching her fingers in his. "Call me Fox." She glanced at him quickly, obviously surprised. "Mulder . . . Fox . . . I . . ." But she cut off, looking away. "Never mind." He wondered if he should pursue the conversation, but figured she'd tell him when she as ready. He sat up, swinging his legs around her, getting groggily to his feet. Dana reached for a crutch she must have found somewhere in the house and edged onto her feet as well. "I'll help you move the bodies," he said, rubbing his head. She moved stiffly to block him. "That's not nessecary. The storm is almost over." "Scully, don't be ridiculous." He stepped past her. "Where is Murphy?" "In the master bedroom," she said faintly. He turned to her again, wondering at the tone, but walked down the hall, shaking off his headache. He turned briefly to glance at her again, his intuition pressing against him but not revealing its suspicions. There was something familiar about the way she was walking, something he had seen before . . . but he strode into the living room and forgot all that. He arched an eyebrow at her. "Tackled me," she said. "On the couch." He glanced at the floor, constructing the probable fight scene there, then followed the path of destruction to the closed bedroom door, noting with a certain sickness the blood splattered everywhere, the shards of glass near an unusually bloody spot. Then, slowly, he opened the door. The room had the faint odor of dead blood, but the stench of decay had not yet set in. He immediately noticed the angle of the sheet-covered body. It really bothered him. "Did you move him?" "No." An unusually large amount of blood had already soaked through the sheet. He walked over and grabbed the edge. "Mulder, please don't." He pulled it away. Murphy's eyes were still wide open, nasty bullet wounds going through what was left of his cheek and forehead. He pulled the sheet down further. His body was completely decimated. It looked . . . well, as if she had unloaded the entire clip into him. He had to swallow at the brutality of the wounds and where most had struck: Murphy's naked lower torso. Closing his eyes, he stood up and pulled the sheet back over the man's body. He had been shot from the bed. The Glock 20 was still a mighty black impurity against the starkness of the sheets. He went over and picked it up. The clip was empty, as he had expected. There was a brief splattering of blood on the bed, as there had been with everything else. The evidence all added up, but not the main point. A deep, sickening ball began to knot in his stomach. He scanned the room slowly. And then his eyes settled on the dressing couch. "Sweet Jesus, no," he whispered, taking a step toward it. He knelt slowly, his fingers brushing against the cloth. He knew there was only one way blood could have ended up here, like this. He desperately tried to blink back the tears that filled his eyes as he stared at the blood, the mental images flashing at him uncontrollably. Her tiny body being pressed unmercifully over the back of the couch, Murphy standing behind her, inhumanly grinding into her, her screams ripping uselessly through the air. The evidence of the rape she had experienced was more brutal than any he could remember investigating, even when he had been with the VCS. And she had tried to keep it from him. Now it all made sense. The wet hair from a hot shower or bath to purify herself, the changed blouse, the stiff way she moved. He now understood why that had been bothering him. It was the sore walk of a rape victim. He had seen it before, many times, but had never dreamed he would see it on Scully. Slowly he turned to her, straightening. She was standing in the doorway, her features completely blank, studying him as if nothing at all had happened. And he would have believed she was mentally well with the crime, except for the fact she had lied to him about the incident and shot Charles Murphy fifteen times when one bullet would have sufficed. "Scully," he said, slowly walking over to the door. Her eyes stayed on his, not even flickering briefly around the room. "Dana, why didn't you tell me about this?" "I'm fine, Mulder," she said, looking at the ground. The lump in his throat was threatening to cut off his oxygen. "No, you're not," he said quietly, moving closer to her. He reached out carefully, taking her shoulders in his hands. She paused, trembling in his hands for only a second before wrenching away from him, stumbling back into the living room. "I'm fine!" She screamed, grasping onto a local chair for support. "I don't want to be a victim! Don't you dare make me into a victim!" "Dana, please. Can we talk about this? What can I do?" "No!" She retreated further, leaning on her crutch, keeping her eyes on him. "You can't do anything! Just forget it!" She lunged backwards again, her good foot catching an out jutting footrest, sending her toppling onto the hardwood floor. She landed heavily on her side. His first urge was to rush to her aid. But even as he was taking the step to help her, he knew she would never forgive him if he did. He had to wait for her to accept that she couldn't face the world alone, that nobody could. That she wasn't invincible. That Dana Scully, just like everybody else, needed help. He froze, staring at the crumpled form of her body, waiting. There was a very long silence. Then, very quietly: "Fox, please . . . help me." In an instant he was at her side, gathering her in his arms, holding her head against his chest. There was a silent moment as she wrapped her arms around him, then her horrible piercing sobs shattering the stillness. He held her as tightly against him as he could, wishing not for the first time that he could draw some of her pain into himself. He was such an incredible idiot. He should have foreseen Murphy's attack. He should have been able to protect her from this. "I'm sorry," he whispered, rocking her like a small child. Her fists clenched in his shirt as he murmured at her. "I'm so, so sorry." ************************** Dana Scully's Apartment 7:45 P.M., March 11 Special Agent Dana Scully stared into the dancing flames unblinkingly. Not even when her eyes began to itch, then burn, then water, did she close them. She had done it often in the last few days she had been back in the land of the normal. She was so absorbed with her thoughts she didn't hear her front door open. "How are you feeling?" Mulder asked from the doorway. Dana looked up, startled and delighted. She hadn't seen Mulder for a few days. "Okay," she said with a faint nod. He crossed the room and settled himself beside her on the couch. She took him in, studying his strong features, the carelessly tousled hair, his hazel eyes as he suddenly looked not at her, but into her. "Tell me," he demanded gently, taking her hand in his. "Tell me how you feel." He kissed the back of her hand tenderly, then looked adoringly into her yes. A chill ran up her spine and smacked the back of her head, then ran back down her spine again. She loved it when he looked at her like that. "Like I said, I'm feeling much better. I didn't have to stay in the hospital, and now I get some time off to heal." "Have you talked to anybody?" Trust Mulder . . . Fox . . . to catch her real meaning when even she didn't know it. "No," she began, reaching for the glass of water on her coffee table. Mulder's hand closed over her wrist before she could touch it. "You need to talk to someone," he said, his eyes boring into her. That enraged her suddenly, inexplicably. She could certainly take care of herself! She wrenched her wrist away. "I'm fine, Fox, I don't need anyone!" "Jesus Christ, Dana! How come you always do this? Why can't you ever lean on someone for help? You don't have to be so damn independent!" She stared back into his eyes, shocked at the attack. It was so out of character for him to explode like this! What on earth was wrong with him? "Mulder!" "Damn it! Why won't you let me help you?!" "But," she said, trying to defend herself against the furious assault, "you weren't even around the last few days!" "I was trying to give you space!" He suddenly leapt off the couch, turning his back to her. "Where is this coming from?" She asked, bewildered. He went over and looked out her window, keeping his eyes away from her. "Over the last few days I've had time to think. You're a hard woman to love, Dana. I mean, it's easy to love you, but you are so unaccepting of that love. I've had relationships like that. I always get . . ." but he cut himself off, lifting his eyes to stare into the dark sky. "I don't want to be in another." She was shocked into silence. Mulder didn't . . . he was not going to . . . "What are you saying?" She asked, trying to force the tremble from her voice. Before she could even begin to contain them, tears were streaming down her cheeks. She didn't want to lose him, not like this. "I'm saying," he said, finally turning to her, "I love you. But you have to let me in. I can't do this if you won't let me in." She stared at him quietly, letting the tears slip down her cheeks without repression. "I don't know . . ." He cut her off, moving toward her. "You have to trust me." "But I . . ." "You have to trust me with everything you have. Not just your life, but your emotions. I want you to trust me that I won't hurt you like Murphy did." His hands hovered over her face, ready to take it. She gazed up at him longingly. There was a part of her - Special Agent Dana Scully, a.k.a. The Ice Queen - that wanted to glare cooly up at him and insist she was fine. That part of her wanted to push him away, to make sure he couldn't hurt her. It wanted to force her to keep reminding herself of how she had missed the Glock the first time she had been thrown on the bed. But the other part of her - Dana Scully the woman - wanted to lean on him. That part realized she really *couldn't* go it alone, no matter what the first part told her. That before she was an FBI agent, she was a woman. "I can do that," she whispered. "I . . . I already do." His lips and hands were on her immediately, holding her in an exquisitely gentle embrace. She let herself melt without the slightest resistance as his tongue flickered briefly across her lips. She hesitated, the opened her lips to him. He tenderly pulled her up, holding her against his body. Painful images flickered through her memory. She pulled away, but he didn't let go. "Tell me," he said. "Tell me what you're feeling." The embarrassment was unbelievable. She was a grown woman. She knew logically that Mulder would never touch her like Murphy had. She knew she could trust him. She knew the whole situation seemed like something that belonged in a TV movie of the week. But it was impossible to battle an invisible enemy, and emotions were most certainly invisible creatures. "I'm fi-" she began. But the look in his eyes halted that. "I'm frightened," she confessed, "that I might lose again. That you'll think I'm weak for falling apart over such a common incident." She looked away from him, hating herself for breaking down. She tried to steel herself against the tears. She didn't want him to see her weakness. But the memories she had been trying to repress instead of confront struck her with agonizingly clear intensity. She found the words pouring off her lips uncontrollably, describing the terror and pain of the brutal rape, and her complete loss of control afterward. And Fox just held her silently, without judgement, pure love in his eyes as he listened. Again her fingers knotted in his shirt, and her tears soaked into his fabric. Secrets about the things she most despised and feared about herself came out, but instead of pushing her away in disgust, he was still holding her lovingly. And when she grew silent, he brushed his fingers along her cheeks, wiping the tears away. "Now," he said, giving her another affectionate squeeze. "I've heard all that and I still love you. No one can go through life completely alone. Not even you." She pressed her head against his chest, inhaling the sweet scent of his cologne. He was right. It was a bittersweet sensation to depend completely on him for even a few emotional moments. But the weight lifted from her shoulders of finally being able to *talk* out weighed even her embarrassment. "Thank you," she whispered. He chuckled, and she could feel his long breath as he sighed. "I know this was hard for you, and you think talking is a sign of weakness." He stroked her hair gently. "Hell, most of the time, I feel the exact same way. But you aren't weak, Scully. You would fight against anything and never give up. You could face any tragedy, and you'd go on." She looked up at him, smiling at the love in his eyes. It was nice to see Mulder completely serious, looking into her with earnest eyes, probing gently to help her heal. "You're right. I'm sure I could face anything," she agreed, snuggling into him. "But life without you? I . . . I don't know." The End please, tell me how you liked it! Please! I spent a lot of time on Title: Celine Series - "If I Were You" Author: CC Decker email feedback, good, bad, and everything in between to : danabryant@earthlink.net Category: SR Rated: PG-13 Summary: A new partner is added to the X-Files division, and she really stirs things up. Sort of a Mulder/Other story, but with an ending that will satisfy any 'shipper. (What, are you crazy?! Give Mulder a girlfriend other than Scully?!) Timespan: Nothing's given away here . . . but there might be a few jokes not understood if you haven't seen the third season yet. Keywords: Mulder/Other romance, Mulder/Scully romance, jealousy "If I Were You" She can feel you Drifting far away But she can't see through What you do not say Maybe she'll go Maybe she'll stay But she'd rather go than fade away Sometimes the sweetest sorrow is the saddest fate If I Were You, Celine Dion FBI Headquarters 10:13 AM Special Agent Vivian Vance hesitated by the door, a slightly worried expression on her face. She reached for the doorknob but stopped again, hastily pulling a compact out of her purse. She gave herself a cursory glance, making sure her hair and makeup were decent. She ran her fingers through her long blond curls, tossing her hair over her shoulders. For the briefest of seconds she suddenly wished she had cut her hair, at least to a non- cheerleader length. She looked like a Panteen model, not an FBI agent. But it was too late for that now. She would make her first impression with her new partners and that would be it. Show no fear. She could handle whatever waited inside. Even . . . Special Agent Fox Mulder. The nameplate on the door was completely unnessacary. Mulder, as she had heard he liked to be called, had a reputation. And so did his partner, Dana Scully. Though Vivian had never met either of them, water cooler breaks made her well acquainted with the stories surrounding both of them. He, the driven, intense, and incredibly paranoid G-man, convinced there was a dark force lurking in every shadow, governments within governments within governments. She, the once promising young doctor that had gotten sucked into his paranormal world of pathological delusions. He had practically destroyed her as an agent. And there were aliens flying around, or being cloned, or dangerous mutants were attacking people, or whatever. Vivian was extraordinarily skeptical. It might make for good TV, but not spending taxpayer dollars. And now she, like Scully three years before, was being jettisoned into the black hole of the X-Flies division. As a babysitter, no less! To make sure the two partners were not breaking any more rules. Vivian was still trying to figure out who she pissed off to get this detail. Vivian stopped stalling, lifted her hand to the door, and knocked. "Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted," came the reply from inside. She heard a feminine snicker as she opened the door. The woman leaning against the desk struck her first . . . Dana Scully, obviously . . . and for a moment Vivian couldn't puller her gaze away. Scully's brilliant eyes met Vivian's with a cool gaze that could only come from life experience, the vivid blue a startling contrast against her clear, creamy skin. Her bone structure was flawless, her lips generous, yet somehow she didn't fit into the perfect class of a super model. And she was tiny, not more than 5'3, her suit tailored against her thin frame. Vivian instantly felt like the too-tall long-limbed teenager of a few years past, especially when the woman arched one sophisticated eyebrow at her inquiry. Vivian decided to deal with her later. She turned her attention to the man sitting behind the desk. He was surprisingly handsome. His hazel eyes actively sought her's as she turned to him, a warm, sexy smile animating itself across her face. His chocolate brow hair was beautifully styled in a classical but not over-primped look. His bone structure was also amazing, although his nose was endearingly just a tiny little bit too big for the rest of his face. The business shirt fit perfectly across his chest, showing he was slim and fit. Vivian suddenly realized her stare had gone on for a few embarrassing seconds too long, and she managed to shake herself out of it. "Hi," she said, stepping into the room, offering her hand first to Scully. "I'm . . ." "Special Agent Vivian Vance," Mulder said, cutting her off as he rose from the desk. "I know. I read about your coming in to spy on us." The blunt comment threw her, and she found herself drawing her hand away from Scully. "I wasn't sent to spy on you," Vivian said. Scully, who had reached to take her hand, withdrew, an unreadable expression on her face. "Really," Mulder said, arching a suddenly playful eyebrow. "So, then, how did you end up getting stuck down here? The FBI doesn't tend to work in threes." Vivian got the hint but ignored it. This was a nightmare. She had to get out of here. "I was sent to work with you," she said stiffly. "Maybe to evaluate you as well, but mainly to work with you." Mulder's sexy smile was tearing her composure apart. And his partner's cool silence was sending chills through her body. Vivian knew without a doubt that she was an outsider here and always would be. ******************** Special Agent Dana Scully watched as the tall, lithe, thin blond woman strolled around their office, riveting Mulder's attention away from their previous conversation. She was shocked. The woman looked as if she had walked off a super model runway, with long thick blond hair, a Barbie-perfect figure, and a sultry expression that could only mean hopeless entrancement for men, and trouble for women. Scully stole a tiny peak at Mulder's reaction to the entrance of their leggy intruder and was unusually disgusted to find him staring in glassy-eyed wonder. He recovered quickly enough, however, to make one of his patented remarks. "Well, I'm sure you'll find either that Scully and I are not as crazy as we're rumored to be . . ." he smiled and didn't continue. "Or," the blond finally asked, taking the worm. "Or you'll become sucked into our madness," Mulder finished flirtatiously. The blond . . . Vivian . . . took it well, though it was Dana's personal opinion that Vivian wasn't quite handling him as well as Dana first had. "I'm sorry, Mulder isn't very well trained," she said, making a rare joke. The long, helpless-teenagers-in-love gaze between Mulder and Vivian had gone on long enough. "All the rookies go through it." The blond drew herself up with cool indignance. "I am not a rookie. I have been working with our special forces group for the last three years." "Ah," Dana said, lifting her chin. There was an uncomfortable silence. "Well," Mulder said finally. "As much as I would love to show you a mutant turtle or a Bigfoot case, we really aren't doing anything but paperwork for the next week or so. We'll have some time to get to know each other." There was a sudden sickening thud somewhere deep within Scully's abdomen. "Well, that's okay. We should get a good working relationship going anyway," the blond said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Who the hell did she think she was, Christie Brinkley? The woman was obviously a spy of some sort. Scully tried to squelch the scowl she felt on her face. Mulder and she were already a wonderful working pair. There wasn't any reason for a new appendage to be added to their perfect team. And who was this creature? She looked like Barbie masquerading as one of the work force. "Excuse me," Scully said, standing. "I am going to go get a cup of coffee. Do either of you want anything." "Huh? Oh, no thanks, Scully," Mulder said, not even bothering to pull his eyes away from the blond. "No thanks, Dana," the blond said, flashing her a Miss America smile. "I love coffee, but it causes teeth stains." "Ah," Scully said again, nodding briefly as she stepped out the door. "Well, I'll be right back." She couldn't believe it! She just shook her head as she walked down the hall. How could a woman, even a leggy blond, intrude on another woman's domain, and then insult her! Did this woman have no standards! Coffee stains! Dana didn't have coffee stains! Or did she . . .? Dana stopped dead in the hallway, dug into her purse, and pulled out a compact, flipping it hastily open, examining her teeth. No, she didn't have coffee stains. This was too much. She and Mulder were a perfect pair. They didn't need a spy, and they certainly didn't need the blond. But Scully wouldn't be as rude as Vivian was. She would rise above it. She was determined to be freezingly polite but by no means to make the blond feel welcome. She could deal with this woman on a professional, adult level. She would not throw back her head and scream, no matter how desperately she wanted to. She retrieved her coffee and returned to the room. Scully straightened her shoulders and paused by the door to their office, pushing away her helpless frustration. And then, just as she opened the door: "You know what, Vivian, I think you're wearing my favorite perfume." *********************** Special Agent Fox Mulder knew the FBI frowned down upon agents dating each other, but he was seriously thinking about breaching protocol. After all, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Vivian Vance was a gift from god. She had to be. He was certain she had stepped from one of the pages of a magazine. Real people, or at least nobody he knew, looked like her. He could barely keep his mind on the conversation they had been having. "So, I like the excitement of doing the whole SWAT team thing, but I suppose this will be fun," she said, sauntering over to his side of the desk, leaning back against it as she looked down on him. Mulder swallowed and sent her what he hoped was a very suave smile. "I'm sure you'll be thoroughly entertained. And we have great people down here." Vivian's luscious lips turned down into a worried frown. "I don't know. Dana seemed a little cold." "She just doesn't know you," Mulder said quickly. God, legs like her's had no origin on this earth. "Well, maybe you're right. But I'm not here to spy on you. I just want to get along with you guys." Mulder saw his opportunity, and decided to go for it. Sending her his sexiest smile, he leaned forward and ever so briefly touched her knee. "I want to get along with you too," he said. "How about if we get to know each other better over dinner? Maybe seven o' clock?" "Are you asking me out on a business dinner, Agent Mulder?" She teased, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Of course. I'll pay for it on my expense account." Then he winked at her. Vivian looked at him for a long moment, then leaned close. "Well," she said in a throaty voice right by his ear, "if you're taking me out to dinner, you'd better buy me flowers on your expense account, too." Mulder chuckled as she did, then almost fainted with pleasure as the delicate scent of her perfume wafted into his nostrils. "You know Vivian, I think you're wearing my favorite perfume." And then, just as Vivian started to smile again, Scully walked back in. "Uh-oh," she said, suddenly freezing in the doorway. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything." Vivian abruptly straightened and strolled back around his desk. "You didn't, Dana. Just dinner plans." Scully immediately shot him a look that would have sent a lesser man into a coma. Then she arched an eyebrow at Vivian. "'Scully', please, Agent Vance," she said in freezing tones. "Mulder and I try to keep an air of professionalism in our work." Vivian nodded, looking a little taken aback. For a long moment Mulder had no idea what to say. But he said it anyway. "I'll pick you up tonight at seven, Vivian," he said, nodding to the blond woman. He glanced back at Scully, and for the briefest of seconds he thought he saw a flash of something . . .but he couldn't place it. Mulder was suddenly very uncomfortable. "Yeah, seven," Vivian said, her eyes resting on his partner. Mulder had the sudden impression that Vivian knew exactly what it was that had suddenly touched Scully's features, but she didn't react. There was another very long, award silence. Mulder sat up straighter in his chair, unnerved by the betrayed look Scully was now sending him. God, it was perfectly alright for him to go out with this blond super model. He couldn't see why Scully, who was usually fairly warm towards her fellow workers, had taken such an immediate dislike to Vivian. Oh, that wasn't right. Not Vivian. Agent Vance. "I'm not feeling well," Scully suddenly said, looking a little pale. "I'm going to go home a little early, if it's alright." "Go ahead," Mulder said, relieved. Obviously, Scully's weird mood was just a result of her being ill. Thank god. And he had thought maybe she was getting territorial. Though the idea of Scully being territorial over him was something to be played with . . . Mulder suddenly shook his head. What the hell was he thinking?! He was going out with Vivian. Scully was just a friend. "She doesn't like me," Vivian said the second Scully had gathered her things and left the office. "She really, really doesn't like me." "She said she was feeling sick," Mulder said, suddenly defensive. "Scully's great. She usually doesn't behave like this. I'm sure she'll be better after she gets some rest." Vivian looked skeptical. "I think it's deeper than that." Mulder was curious. "How so?" But Vivian just shook her head enigmatically. "Well," Mulder said, deciding not to pursue unpleasant conversation, "what about you? I couldn't glean a whole lot of information about you from your report." "I'm a very mysterious person," she said absently, wandering over to his file cabinet. She studied some of the pictures on the wall and the books and shook her head. "What?" He finally asked. "All this stuff. It's like an episode of 'Sightings'. Don't get me wrong, I have respect for the people that work so hard to try and get any type of information, but . . ." she trailed off as a photograph off the 'Alien Autopsy' video caught her attention. "What?" He asked again. "This was proven false. The whole alien thing. A real military instillation would have had a fixed camera during an autopsy, and a better angle on the body. And the film didn't date back to when it was supposed to. It was an elaborate hoax, just like the Lock Ness Monster and those crop circles those two old guys in England messed with. What I mean is, yes, some of this seems real, once you get involved in it. But when you really step back and apply this to real life, and stop looking through the lenses of science fiction, it just doesn't compare." Mulder wasn't quite sure how to take that. Scully often complained about his wild theories, but she respected the journey and at least listened with a somewhat open mind. But, that didn't matter. Vivian's perception of things would change. Just as Scully's had. "Well," he said. "Scully and I have seen a lot of stuff. Weird stuff. If you work for any length of time with us, you'll get to see it too." Vivian nodded, but it was obvious that she was just humoring him. It exasperated him, but he swallowed anything he might have said to her. "What were we talking about. . .?" He muttered to himself. "Oh, that's right, your life." "Hm." "Well, are there any spouses, kids, or pets?" "Just fish," she said. She paused. "Well, not anymore. They died and I haven't had time to get new ones." Mulder snickered to himself about that he and Vivian apparently had a lot in common. Then he glanced at the clock. Five o' clock. He had some papers to fill out and submit before he could leave. He said as much to Vivian. "I'll browse then," she said, wandering over to his file cabinet. "See what you and Scully have done in the last five years." Mulder went to work, but the temptation to watch her kept him steadily distracted. She was just thumbing through the folders, with her back to him, but even that was a nice angle. He was glad she had decided to go out on a date with him. Er. . . business dinner. It was going to be great. A tall, blond model had been placed neatly into his lap. He was very lucky. ************************ Vivian wasn't thinking that much about the folders she was browsing through. They looked like a collection of articles, official reports, and evidence that some geeky teenage kid would have, not the FBI. Mulder was intense and sexy, yes, but she couldn't believe he swallowed some of this stuff. What Vivian was really concerned about was Scully. And the working relationship they would be experiencing for God know's how long. Scully wasn't sick. Only a man would be foolish enough to believe that. Vivian couldn't tell how deep it was, but Scully was not sick at all. She was jealous. Really, really jealous. More so than most agents would be over their partners, less so than a lover. Vivian placed herself briefly in the woman's shoes, wondering what it would be like to share Mulder with another woman after working with him for five years. She decided that even though she didn't know him yet, not like Scully presumably did, she still wouldn't want to do it. Still though . . . there was something about the betrayed look that Scully had sent Mulder that really bothered her. Vivian knew she shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help herself. She turned around abruptly and caught Mulder watching her. "What?" He asked, his cheeks suddenly flushing with embarrassment. Vivian ignored that. "You and Scully. Were you ever . . . involved?" Mulder looked startled. "No, of course not. Scully's just a friend. A close friend, maybe, but just a friend." Vivian instinctively knew that was all she was going to get out of him, but the tiniest shadow of doubt began to work itself into her mind. She didn't know why . . . but she couldn't but help suspect there was more than friendship here. Vivian turned back around and suddenly found herself face-to-face with a file. It had Scully's name on it. Vivian had heard all the rumors, but had never had a confirmed version of the whole story. She briefly read over the bare-bones report of Agent Scully's abduction, but it wasn't really anything she didn't already know. She turned back to Mulder again, who was writing. "Has there been any new information on Scully's case?" She asked, holding the file up for him to see. "How is she doing now?" Mulder jerked his head up from his computer and in that instant, deep inside, Vivian knew. It was more than hopeless to go out on a date with him, or hope for any sort of relationship. The uncensored tender expression on his face told her everything. He cared very deeply for his partner. Far past the point of normal friendship. Vivian was profoundly disappointed. For a long moment she just watched him, wishing for the first time she had been Scully. She closed the folder and put it back. "There hasn't been any information," Mulder said. "And she's doing fine now." Vivian studied him closely. He was hiding something, but she didn't care enough to pursue it. Maybe it was just friendship in Mulder's eyes, especially when his expression changed to one of admiration as he seemed to see her again. Yes, that had to be it. Vivian began to riffle through the folder again. "Hey, let's just take the rest of the day off," Mulder said, startling her. "It's five thirty. We can sneak out of here." Vivian nodded at him and shut up the cabinet. It still bothered her, but there wasn't anything she could do about him. She would just go on her date with him and see if his relationship with Scully was purely platonic. Besides, with the way Mulder looked at Vivian it was hard to believe he had any sort of romantic attachment to his first partner. ************************* Dana Scully's Apartment 12:27 PM Scully threw open the door to her apartment. It just enraged her. Mulder was such a . . . playboy! To date a fellow partner! Especially when she and him had already had plans to get Chinese food for dinner together! She was not jealous! Scully slammed her keys to the coffee table and stalked into her kitchen. She stood still, furious, trying to decide precisely what she now wanted to do with the rest of her day and her no empty evening. And it was suddenly like she had been removed from herself. Dana took a deep breath and slowly sank into one of her kitchen chairs. Her behavior was irrational and without any real cause. Why? Why was she so upset about Vivian? Dana rose from her chair, almost as agitated about the whole situation as she had been seconds earlier. She felt so helpless! So . . . unwanted . . . so . . . pathetic. The small redheaded woman suddenly froze in the middle of her kitchen. It was impossible. Illogical. Ridiculous. Mulder was her friend. She wasn't jealous. It was the blond . . . waltzing in and looking like a bleeping super model. Dana was suddenly possessed by the urgent desire to scream loud and long, or to just tell somebody, anybody, about what a terrible person Mulder was. She sighed and reached for her telephone, dialing her best friend's number by heart. "Hello?" "Hi, Ellen," Dana said, immensely relieved to hear her pick up. "I'm glad I caught you." "Dana? Are you alright?" Ellen sounded more worried than she should have been. Scully wondered about her tone, but ignored it. "Yes, I'm fine. I just wanted to chat." Ellen sounded delighted. "Well, you picked the perfect night. My loving husband and son have abandoned me to go to a ball game of some sort. Do you want to meet for dinner?" "Yes, definitely," Dana said, twisting the phone cord around her fingers. They settled on where, and precisely when, and got off. She felt a little better, but not much. Damn Mulder! ***************************** Finneli's Fine Italian Cuisine 8:46 PM Mulder looked at his wonderful date over the table as he talked and praised God again. Or Skinner. Or whoever had sent this creature into his division. " . . . so Scully and I managed to get out alive," he continued, "but just barely. And they never found the creatures again. Scully almost died. She came a lot closer to it than me or the forest ranger. She's so small . . ." "You don't have any non-case related stories, do you?" Vivian gracefully interrupted when he paused for a breath. She sent him a very gently smile. "I kind of want to get to know you, not your work. Beside, this is the kind of stuff I would have to see." Mulder dropped his head, sending her an embarrassed look. "I'm sorry. You should have shut me up earlier. Scully usually just . . ." "Enough about Scully." Vivian smiled gently at him and touched his hand over the table. "I want to hear about you." Mulder pushed aside his immediate irritation and reminded himself she had a valid reasons for wanting to not talk shop. They had talked their way through appetizers, wine, and salad. Or rather, he had. Telling her about cases and Scully. " . . . drives me nuts," she was saying. "Hm, what?" He said, suddenly pulling himself back into the conversation. "Science fiction. It drives me nuts. It's the most useless form of literature. If you can call it that." "Oh," Mulder said. "What about sports?" "I love baseball," Vivian suddenly said, leaning over the table. There was a dull thunk beneath the long table cloth, and Mulder suddenly felt a foot lightly touch his leg. "Baseball, huh?" He said. "I'm a basketball fan myself." "No," Vivian said, her eyes twinkling. "I really love baseball." "That's interesting," Mulder said, wandering off. Her stocking foot kept rubbing his shin lightly, but she suddenly stopped. "Baseball, Fox. Are you alright? I don't think you've heard half of what I've said tonight." "I have too," Mulder said, sitting up. But then he realized he really hadn't. Vivian was gorgeous, yes, but she was also . . . Boring. No, that wasn't fair, he suddenly thought a moment later. She wasn't boring, it was just that they had different tastes in almost everything. But that should be okay too. Opposites attract. "Well," Mulder said, fumbling for a reply to her skeptical look, "maybe I wasn't paying so much attention. But it's just because you're so beautiful, you kept distracting me from the conversation." Vivian blushed nicely at him and shook her head. "You're quick, Fox," she said. Mulder sent her what he prayed was a handsomely devilish grin. "I'm not too quick," he replied. "I'm athletic, but I'm not quick." She got his hidden meaning. "Too bad you don't like baseball," she said slyly. Mulder wanted to bash his head through the wine glasses and plates and maybe even the forks. God, had he lost his touch. Baseball. It was the oldest symbol in the book. And it had blown past his head like a fast ball. Then again, even as he began sparring with Vivian, he couldn't quite keep his mind on her. This whole, silly, indirect form of flirting used to be very entertaining, but just bored him now. ". . . so that's why I go the sex change after my sister, she's a nun you know, got pregnant and had her abortion. I mean, after Daddy got abducted by aliens, it was just all useless. . ." "What?" "I've been going on for thirty seconds like this. Fox, you're not with me. What's bothering you?" "Nothing. I'm sorry. You were saying?" Vivian stared at him and slowly began shaking her head. She quickly retracted her foot. "What?" He asked again. "You didn't really want to go out on a date with me. I've seen that look before." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and gestured with her hand to silence his protest in one movement. "It happens. I've seen that look on other men's faces. Maybe it's just my appearance." She tilted her head slightly, scrutinizing him. "Yes, I've definitely seen that look before." "What look?" Vivian slowly took a sip of wine and he could hear her slipping her foot back into her shoe. "The look of a clueless man who is very much in love." "I'm not in love with anybody!" Vivian gave him a long, slow look, then tilted her head back and laughed long and hard. "You're cute, you know that, Fox?" She asked him when she finally got over the hilarity of the matter. Mulder was staring at her with a completely straight expression. "Why am I so funny?" He asked coldly. "You're in love with Dana." She offered him her hand. "Hi. It's nice to meet you. I'm Vivian. I'll be working with you." "Scully?!" "Yes, Dana. It's very obvious. Well, not that obvious, since it took me all of today and most of dinner to figure it out." "Scully?!" "Yes, Dana. Your beautiful petite partner of almost four years that you can't stop talking about." "I'm not in love with Scully," he finally sputtered. Vivian fixed her blue eyes on him and stared hard. Mulder began to squirm. "Really, men are helpless," she said, shaking her head. "I saw the tender looks at her, the way you speak about her. And I know your type. You think you love tall blond women like me, but . . ." "But I . . ." Shut up, Fox,"she interrupted. "I'm not through yet. You see, you quietly and sweetly fall in love with the people that mean the most to you, but you're too stupid to figure it out. And then you end up miserable and unhappy and bored." "You hardly know me," Mulder protested. "You barely spoke to Scully." Vivian fixed him with an even stare. "And that leads me to another point. She's obviously feeling something for you." "You're crazy!" "I'm an outsider. Check please," she said to the waiter, gesturing to the man. "Don't get me wrong, Mulder. I didn't take offense to what happened. It think it's sweet. And since we certainly have nothing emotionally involved with each other, we can just be friends. Which works out, because I don't think we were very compatible to begin with." "Scully's not in love with me. I'm not in love with her." Vivian snorted. "Yeah, right. If I were you, I wouldn't let her slip away. If I were you, I'd go after her." ************************* Mimi's Cafe 8:46 PM "And, she's just such a. . . a bitch! Waltzing into our office as if she had always been there, flipping her ridiculous blond hair over her shoulders like Nikki Taylor or something! And Mulder, with his eyes falling out of his head, slobbering over his desk! And then they went on a date!! A DATE! When I already had plans with him!" Ellen looked at her steadily over the table. "What is your real problem?" She finally asked. "This woman, the blond!" "Dana, I don't think I've seen you so upset about your partner before. You've been talking to me about this woman and Fox for the last twenty minutes. Listen to yourself. You're practically screaming." Dana stared at her, then complacently leaned back in her chain and took a long, composed sip of coffee. Ellen was right. She was overreacting. But it just enraged her! "I can't help it," she finally burst out. "I don't even know why it makes me so furious, but it does. I just feel so. . ." "Helpless?" "Yes!" Ellen looked at her knowingly over the meal. It gave Dana a sudden, uncomfortable feeling, and she had to stop and examine her own emotions. Aside from the coffee stain thing, Vivian really hadn't said anything that rude to her. "Can I say something, Dana?" "Sure." Ellen shifted and played with her wedding band, avoiding Scully's eyes. "I'm not surprised you feel like this. In fact, I've been waiting for it." "What?" "How do you feel about Mulder, Dana?" "He's my best friend." Scully smiled softly to herself. "I couldn't imagine not working with him." "You know I wouldn't lie to you about anything." "Of course." "You're in love with him," Ellen said. "What?!" "You're in love with him." Ellen looked at her over the table, a gently scrutinizing look on her face. "You've been working with him for five years, and you've fallen in love with him. These things happen. You have a very stressful, dangerous job, and you've had to trust him with your life. And that led to love." Dana felt her lips parting to deny it, but she couldn't force the words out. "I don't want to be in love with Mulder," she finally blurted out. Ellen patted her hand companionably and shook her head. "Well, to borrow one of my son's terms, you're screwed." Dana just kept staring at her friend. And, very slowly, a sick knot began to twist in her stomach. "Even if I were in love with him, and that's not an admission, there's nothing I could ever do about it." "Maybe not, but you'll be happier if you just admit it to yourself and get over it. It hasn't been that long since I was out there, you know." Dana could feel the blood draining from her face. Little men were pounding the inner lining of her stomach with little mallets. She tried desperately to pull Ellen's words from her mind, but it was just too late. Maybe she was in love with him. Maybe she did love her partner. And the more she thought about it, the sicker she felt. And of course, feeling sick is always a sign of being in love. "Oh my God," she whispered. What Ellen said was true. She couldn't even think about trying to deny it. Imaging being without Mulder just plain hurt now. "I just had no idea. I mean, I knew, but I didn't want to really think about it or anything. And Mulder was always *mine*, because he was never going out on dates or anything." "Still water run deep, Dana. I know that usually applies to people, but it applies to love, as well." Dana nodded and put her fork down. She couldn't eat. "What are you going to do?" Ellen asked. "Nothing." Scully forced herself to not tremble. "I can't do anything. He's on a date with our new partner." "That's rough." "I'm not . . . I can't be . . . I mean, it's Mulder . . ." "Who has saved your life and given you his trust and vice versa and if I were you I would kill Vivian. You could make it look like an accident." Dana stared at her, then started laughing. "Well, thank god I at least have a few non-work related friends." "You'll do alright. Things will work out." "Oh, I wish," Dana said, looking away. "I wish this had come out earlier, or that he cared at all . . ." "He will. I have married woman's intuition about this. Don't worry, Dana, he will." Dana sent her best friend a very skeptical look. She couldn't be in love with her partner. She wouldn't let herself be. ******************** Fox Mulder's Apartment 2:34 AM Mulder spent the entire night after his date with Vivian awake. He did absolutely everything he could to bore himself to sleep, but it wouldn't happen. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Vivian telling him again that he was in love with Dana, and that she in turn cared about him. But he knew Vivian was wrong on that count. Scully . . . not Scully! Yes, they were best of friends, and he didn't even trust his family the way he trusted her, but she wasn't in love with him. So why couldn't he sleep?! Mulder suddenly jumped around his apartment, jogging in place, banging his basketball against the floor, doing jumping jacks. It only served to stir him up more. "I'm not in love with Dana Scully," he said, aloud to his fish. "I'm not in love with Dana Scully. I'm in love with Dana Scully . . . damn it!" Even his subconscious was out to get him. He sank to his sofa in defeat. The merest thought of Scully getting hurt made him sick. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to touch her face, run his fingers through her hair, to slowly unbutton her ultra-conservative jackets and caress her soft, vulnerable skin. And he wanted to argue with her. And work with her. And just . . . do everything with her. "Damn," he said to himself again. This was going to be a very, very long night. ********************** FBI Headquarters 7:14 AM Special Agent Vivian Vance was sipping her bottled water at Mulder's desk as Special Agent Dana Scully hummed her way into the office. Scully stopped dead and stared at her. "You're in early," she said. Vivian looked at the small redheaded woman and was surprised to see the barely veiled hatred in her eyes. "Good morning, Scully,"she said cheerily. "I brought bagels if you want one." "No, thank you," Scully said freezingly. Vivian could only chuckle inside herself. While for a few moments last night she might have questioned whether her observations about Mulder and Scully were accurate, there was no doubt now. "Aren't you hungry, Scully?" Vivian asked innocently. "Nope," Dana said, coming in and doing her best to ignore Vivian. Vivian didn't feel even slightly rebuffed by the woman's coldness. She now understood it. "I was thinking, Dana," she said, rising, "that perhaps you would like to go out to lunch, you know, just us girls. I mean, I went out with Mulder last night, and I need to get to know you as well." "I'm busy." "I didn't even tell you what time yet!" Scully fixed her furious blue eyes on Vivian's. "I know. I'm busy." And then, Vivian lost it. She was trying to be sweet, understanding, a good agent, and she kept getting rebuffed. She could understand and take only so much. In a single leap she was standing nose to nose, looking down on the woman. Scully looked none to thrilled with the arrangement, but didn't back down. "Just what the hell is you problem with me?!" Scully's eyes blazed. "I don't think you're a professional, dating Mulder . . ." "Professional, bullshit! You don't like me because you're in love with him yourself!" "What?! That's preposterous! I . . ." Vivian slapped her. Not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to crack her face away and get her attention. For a moment Scully looked as if she was going to slap Vivian back, but Vivian stepped into her, prepared for the attack. "Look at what you feel!" She yelled when Scully went silent and motionless in shock. "You can HAVE Mulder! I certainly don't want him. He's in love with you!" Scully went deathly pale. She took a step back and just plain stared at her. Vivian then got the tiniest inkling of how deep this woman's love for her partner was. For a moment Vivian was envious, and very tempted to just tell Scully it was a lie, but she knew it would be a tragedy to do so. She suddenly understood why Scully was so territorial. "Mulder doesn't care for me," Scully said at last, retreating. Vivian sensed her advantage and pressed it. "He does," she said, taking a step closer. "He couldn't stop talking about you all through dinner. He didn't listen to ten words I said. God, you both are so pathetic! Just go talk to him!" "You don't know anything, Vivian," Scully suddenly said, regaining some of her composure. "The whole thing is ridiculous." "Do I have to slap you again? I will, you know." Dana ducked back behind Mulder's desk. "Okay, hypothetically speaking, and this is not an admission, what could I possibly do?" Vivian leaned over the desk. "Tell him. You'll be so much happier if you just tell him. And forgive me for getting assigned to this division and going out one date with Mulder." Scully went even paler, if it was possible. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," she said weakly, sinking into her chair. "I have been terrible to you." "I get it a lot." "But I'm not in love with Mulder. And I don't want that getting passed around to anybody, especially not him." Vivian sighed deeply. "What if I told you he said he was deeply in love with you? That he figured it out right in the middle of dinner? That he said as much?" Of course, Mulder hadn't said any such thing, but it wasn't a statement, it was a question. It was close enough. Scully's eyes widened. "You should say something to him," Vivian said. "Then you should go out lunch with me. You can pay." "I couldn't," Scully said, shaking her head. "Damn it, just do it!" "Do what?" Mulder asked as he came into the office. Scully and Vivian froze, and Mulder suddenly looked a little embarrassed. Vivian watched as Scully literally plucked an expression of professional composure out of the air and put it on her face. "Girl stuff," she told Mulder vaguely. "Ah," Mulder said. Vivian watched as his eyes fell on Scully, and the tenderness in his expression wasn't even thinly disguised. Vivian couldn't but help snicker to herself. If these two people refused to get into a relationship because they were both too frightened, then they deserved to be miserable. "Well, good morning," Mulder finally said, breaking the silence. "Hi," Scully said. Yet another long silence. "You know what?" Vivian asked. "I have a piece of paperwork I still have to deliver to my former department. I'll go take it up to them. And you know those guys. Don't expect to see me here again for at least an hour. I'm going to have to listen to all my buddies tell me their bloated stories." Scully shot her a dirty look, as did Mulder. Vivian smiled to herself and walked out. ************************* Fox Mulder watched as Dana (no use trying to think of her as 'Scully' now) worked silently at her desk. After a few minutes she seemed to realize she was being watched and she lifted her eyes to his. Scully wasn't like other women, he suddenly reflected. He couldn't just read her expression and body language like a billboard. He couldn't just feed her lines her picked up from GQ and some certain questionable magazines. He had to constantly stay on her toes with her, constantly be thinking. And when it really mattered, he could be refreshingly direct with her and she wouldn't play games. Then he realized he was still staring at her. "How was you date?" She asked, going back to her paper. "It was . . . well, Vivian and I just didn't seem to click." "That's a shame," she said without looking up. Mulder came over to the desk and moved some of the crap so he could lean against it. Scully kept her eyes on her work. "We actually talked about you," Mulder said carefully. "What did you say about ?" She wouldn't look up. "Oh, I don't know," Mulder said. "Vivian's just not my type. And we just happened to go ahead and talk, you know, about what we had in common, which wasn't much." "Oh." Mulder fidgeted with a pen on his desk. "Yeah, she uh, has this weird, God, you're going to laugh, theory about you." "What was that?" Scully asked, turning the page. Her pen moved across the paper, taking meticulous notes. "That we really cared about each other." "Well, sure we care about each other. We're partners." "No," he said, starting to get frustrated with her avoidance of eye contact. "She meant that we really care about each other." "Well, sure we do," Dana said amiably, switching the page again. "No. I mean that we . . ." he leaned over the desk and took her chin in her fingers, gently forcing it up, ". . . really care about each other." Dana finally looked up at him. The love in her eyes was so obvious he couldn't understand how he had never seen it before. She didn't say anything. Neither did he. He slowly touched he cheek with the back of his hand, brushing her hair away from her face. For a long couple of seconds she didn't move. Then she closed her eyes, turned her head ever so slightly, and touched her lips against the palm of his hand. Then she looked back up into his eyes. "Oh, God, why didn't we do this earlier?" He asked her, moving to his feet and circling the desk. She rose gracefully and met him. "Because, we're idiots," she replied as he took her face in his hands. They smiled at each other for a long moment, then he bent down . . . or she tilted up . . . and their lips softly brushed together. He let go of her face and pulled her into his arms, hesitantly touching her back, then her hair, never breaking away. He pulled back first, kissing each cheek and her forehead before looking down on her. "Oh, that was nice," she said softly, looking up at him from the circle of his arms. "I can be nicer." He pulled her in closer and this time he suddenly kissed her hard, crushing her against his chest, his lips insistently prying her's apart. She gave in; what else could she do? And explored him, tasting him, and he wondered if this moment was really happening. She was barely able to pull away to gasp a breath when she remembered where they were. Mulder smiled down at her, enjoying her reaction to him. He could read her thoughts in her eyes. She smiled gently, an expression meant only for him, and laid her cheek against his chest. "I guess I really owe Vivian an apology," she said softly. "No apology needed," Vivian said from the door. When they both turned to her, startled, she smiled and shook her head. "Don't worry, I didn't see anything. I just walked in now. Really, Mulder, I'm ashamed of you, asking me out when you obviously have something invested in Scully." They both laughed and broke away from each other. Mulder glanced at the clock, sorely tempted to rotate the hand to five o' clock, when he could take Scully out of the work environment and begin to really learn about her. He glanced at his partner and couldn't but help notice how much more beautiful she looked now. He reached for her hand, feeling like a teenager but not caring. "Why don't you guys go ahead and sneak out?" Vivian asked. "I can make an excuse for you." "Are you sure?" Mulder asked her as Scully began to protest. "Absolutely. I don't want to spend the day sick to my stomach watching you two stare at each other. I want you guys out of here. In fact, that's a command." Mulder looked down at the beautiful woman that seemed to have fallen into his lap, suddenly, as if he had never known her before today. He already loved her. It was as Vivian had said, he was just too stupid to realize it. "Let's just go," Dana said suddenly, squeezing his hand. "Let's take the opportunity while we have one." "Well, I'm sold," Mulder said. He pulled Scully's hand as she made a grab for her purse, and Vivian practically had to leap out of their way. "I'll buy you lunch all next week," Scully suddenly said to Vivian as they shut the door. "I'll remember that!" ******************* Dana Scully's Apartment 11:21 am "Well, so much for waiting and getting to know each other." "We know each other already," Mulder whispered softly in her ear. Dana snuggled into him for a long moment, then pulled away, grabbing her robe off her chair as she slipped from her bed. "Damn," Mulder swore softly. "Always prepared." She smiled at him as she tied a knot in the ribbon at her waist. That would always be Mulder. Fox. "I'm not going to wander round naked," she chided him. "Why not?" She fixed him with a long, steady gaze. "I'll make us some coffee," she replied dryly. "Do you have a robe for me?" Mulder cried as she walked out of her bedroom. "Do you think I entertain so many men here I would have extra men's robes lying around?" She called to him. There was a long silence. "You'd better say 'no' soon, Fox,' she continued. Mulder wandered out of her bedroom, in the jeans he had changed into last night to go out in. "No," he said impishly. She paused by her coffee maker and was struck by how incredibly happy she was to see him standing in her kitchen, his hair uncombed, completely. . . normal. He suddenly caught her eye and chuckled. "And to think," he muttered as he walked into her kitchen and pulled her into his arms again, "if Vivian hadn't been assigned to us we'd both still be miserable and lonely." "I wasn't miserable and lonely." "All those men you were entertaining." She elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "I wouldn't go there if I were you . . ." The End please, feedback!!!!! danabryant@earthlink.net Title and parts: The Celine Series - If That's What It Takes Author: CC Decker Email: Oh, God, please, email me, people! If you even read it, please email me! I make it a policy to email comments to *every* piece of fan fiction I read, and I think everybody would be happier if everybody did this! Please email me at I will forever love you if you do! Category: TRH (sort of) Rated: R Summary: A white water rafting trip goes horribly wrong for Mulder and Scully, and during it, Mulder's near death shows them how much they care for each other. Spoilers: None I can think of . . . Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, rafting, near-death experience. Disclaimer: Whoohoo! My favorite part! Hey, folks, I'm Chris Carter and these characters actually *do* belong to me. This is an episode I would make, if Fox Broadcasting would let me, but those bastards won't, so what's a person to do! Anyway, I'm a fan of Celine Dion, if you folks haven't guessed already, and I used her lyrics without her permission. But I'm sure she won't mind, because in the same breath I'm going to tell all of you to get out there and buy her 'Falling Into You' CD, and all of her others, while you're at it! And please, people, start watching my great new show 'Millennium'! It's been doing crappy in the ratings, and I can't figure out why! Maybe 'cause it's a boring, cheesy show that's detracting from 'The X-Files', I don't know . . . At any rate, keep on watching and I'll get my pay check! (For all you clueless people, I'm not really Chris Carter . . and I'm not making any money off his characters, so he doesn't need to sue me . . .) And on with the story!!! When the storm rises up, when the shadows descend Ev'ry beat of my heart, ev'ry day without end I will stand like a rock, I will bend till I break Till there's no more to give, if that's what it takes I will risk everything, I will fight, I will bleed I will lay down my life, if that's what you need Celine Dion, If That's What It Takes "Another camping trip," Special Agent Dana Scully said, studying the surrounding forested terrain from the passenger seat of their rented car. This time they were in Pinetop, a small town in northeastern Arizona, right on the White Mountains range. Also a UFO hot spot, according to her partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder. It was his theory that the disappearance of the group of campers they were up here to find was alien-related. She was privately hoping it was something mundane, like a hungry bear. "Yep. And the only way to reach their camp is by white water raft. The area is too heavily wooded to get a helicopter or search team in." She turned to study her partner. He was tall, lanky, and handsome. His brown hair was going every which direction, and his eyes held a spark of quirkiness. He had discarded his usual suit and tie for jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel shirt, and hiking boots. "Wonderful," she said flatly. "On our first camping trip, we nearly ended up shooting each other because of an ancient artic worm. On our second camping trip, blood sucking fireflies attacked and we nearly didn't make it out alive. On our third trip, spore from a volcano almost infected me with a hostile . . ." "Scully . . ." "Then, of course, who could forget our recent excursion out to meet Big Blue? A damn alligator ate my dog!" "But Scully, each of those times we got to stay in deluxe all-expenses-paid government accommodations." Mulder had a way of saying things that completely destroyed the validity of her complaints. She shook her head and looked out the window of the car at the passing landscape as the sun began to set. First, they had taken a four hour flight from Washington D.C. into Phoenix, which was a pleasant 100 degrees, in the shade, thank you. And it was only early spring. Then, after spending thirty minutes battling the confusing airport, they found their luggage, rented a car, and started the trek up to this northeastern Arizona town. Thankfully, after three hours of driving upward in altitude, the barren desert landscape had turned into lush evergreen forests, and the temperature had dropped forty degrees. And the town of Pinetop seemed pleasant enough, even if Mulder couldn't find the office of the guide they had hired. And to top it off, they had to get up at four-thirty the next morning. "I think it was that road back there," she volunteered as Mulder shot through an intersection. "Really? I don't think so, but we can try," he said, turning around. "So, Mulder, I need more information on this case." "A guide took a group of six, three couples, on a white water rafting trip down the Salt River up here. He had a radio in case of emergency. Their original goal was to do some rafting, float down the river, and end up on the National Park camp grounds. It was to be a four day trip. Unfortunately, the second night, a radio call went out from the guide, begging for help." "What did he say?" "A giant light was coming from the sky, and that one by one, each member of his partner was getting sucked up into it. Then his transmission went out, and nobody heard him again." "Did they find the camp ground? Drag the river?" "Yes, and they found nothing. The camp ground looked as if they had only left it ten minutes earlier, and still set up. Nothing turned up in the river." Scully pulled out the briefing of the area that their guide had sent them. "It says here that a few people make their summer homes along the banks of the river, often miles off the road. How do we know that they weren't attacked by somebody in one of these houses?" "We don't, really. And don't let that note mislead you.. There aren't that many cabins, and at this time of the year, most of the people don't even come up. Not until summer, at any rate." "Well, I always did want to go white water rafting," she said, delighted when Mulder finally turned into the proper parking lot. ************************** Fox Mulder walked briskly along the hallway of the motel, down three doors to his partner's room. Stifling a yawn, he knocked briskly on her door. He was more than a little surprised to find Scully half awake with a bad case of pillow hair. She was usually up way before him. "Time to get up," he said cheerfully, studding her fuzzy expression. "Mulder, it's the middle of the night . . . " "No, it's not. Up and at 'em. We have half an hour." "My father was right," she said with a groan as Mulder began to excuse himself. "How so?" "I should have gone into the medical practice after all." Mulder chuckled and shut the door. Their duffle bags were in the trunk of the car, and their guide was supposed to provide them with the rest of the equipment they would need. It had all been discussed at their meeting the day before. The guide, Marty Windle, had suggested they rest the night and set out early in the morning, around five. Mulder had wanted to take off that evening, but Scully had managed to talk him out of it. A few moments later, Scully emerged from her room, dressed in a flannel shirt, a wind breaker, and jeans. For a moment Mulder idly stared at his partner as she approached the car, allowing himself the luxury of admiring her soft curves beneath the denim, the petiteness of her frame. Yes, his partner was undeniably a very beautiful woman. It was funny how, when he worked with her on a day-to-day basis, how he could forget those things. "Well, she said, settling beside him in the car. The shorter hairs at the back of her head were falling out of her ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed with the cool morning temperature. She now looked almost fully awake and refreshed. However, he knew well that looks could be deceiving. "Well, what?" He replied. "Well, are we going to get breakfast or something?" "I guess. Unless you want to start this trip with some of Marty's wonder freeze-dried scrambled eggs." She just stared at him, then looked forward. "A pediatrition," she continued. "That way, I could have my own office, and not wake up until at least seven or eight. And I wouldn't have to worry about getting eaten by bears." "But what about all the screaming children that would have thrown up on you?" Mulder started the car, shuddering. "I would rather be in a gunfight any day." She waved her hand at him. "Kids aren't that bad." "Scully, you're not becoming maternal on me, are you?" He asked with mock horror. "Don't be a wise ass, Mulder. It's too early." "What about Denny's? The very essence of American mediocrity when it comes to food. And it's cheap, to boot." "Sure . . . fine . . . whatever. Mulder, what time is it?" "Um . . . four thirty-five." "Wonderful." She yawned again, the opened her eyes wider, for the first time fully waking up and becoming alert. "It looks like we might get rain," she said, eyeing the light gray clouds above. "No, I checked. That all supposed to pass over us and storm on someone else." She grunted a noncommittal reply and gestured for him to turn into the Denny's. "Don't worry, Scully," he said, resting his hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the front door. "I'll take good care of you on this trip. I won't let a bear eat you." He stared at the road, letting a long silence fall. "Unless you want to go to McDonald's or something instead." He paused. "Hey Scully, you know what they call a cheeseburger in France?" "Shove it, Mulder." He snickered to himself and shook his head. She could really be a bitch in the morning. Breakfast was as he predicted; mediocre. Scully's disposition immediately improved with her fist sip of coffee, as he knew it would. He even surprised himself by mentally predicting what she was going to order. It was amazing how close they were. "Well, as much as I hate to say it, Scully, it looks like we have to head out." He watched as she stared longingly into her coffee cup. "Nose and throat specialists make a lot of money, and they hardly ever do anything. I could have done that." "This just isn't your day, is it?" She sent him a rare smile. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I just want to crawl back into bed and get several more hours of sleep, you know?" "Sure. Breakfast is on me," he said, rising to take the bill to the register. She just yawned behind him and drank the rest of the coffee. ************************** "Ready to head out?" Marty Windle asked, his eyes wide with eager anticipation. His hair was that of a true outdoor recreationist, long, windblown, slightly scraggly. And he had not an ounce of fat anywhere on his body. "I guess," Scully said. There were standing in his travel office, looking at posters of tiny yellow boats in huge, engulfing waves. Every shot looked as if it had been taken just as the boat was being flipped over, or just as someone was falling out. The people in the boats were hanging at impossible angles. "Are we going to be pitching a tent and all that?" Mulder asked, glancing apprehensively at the posters. "You betcha." "Our gear is right here," Mulder said, gesturing to the front door. "We only brought what you asked us to . . . clothing." "What about sleeping bags?" Scully asked. "I provide them. Freshly washed, of course. Often city slickers come out here and don't realize how cold it is. They bring paper thin bags." He glanced from Mulder to Scully, and back again. "Now, I have a small tent for myself, and one for you two," he trailed off uncertainly. "One?" Scully asked. Marty grinned at them. "I was assuming you two would want to be together." "No," Mulder said quickly. "We should probably have separate tents." "Oh," Marty looked vaguely embarrassed. "You can just go out and get in my jeep then. Everything's already loaded. I'll get another tent." Scully glanced at her partner, partly in amusement and partly in exasperation. Why people always assumed they were lovers, even when they knew they were with the FBI, was beyond her. "Sure," Mulder said, touching her shoulder gently. Five minutes later they were roaring down a one lane road at fifty-five miles an hour, Mary hunched over the steering wheel as if making himself more aerodynamic would move the car faster. In order to distract herself from her terror of imminent death, Scully leaned forward, gripping the seats, to ask Marty a question. "Marty, you have been a guide on this river for the last seven years. Do you have any explanation as to what could have happened to the previous party?" "None," Marty said, looking over the seat at her. "My partner was a very experienced guide. He's seen everything. In this part of the country, rapids are rated from one to six, six being completely impassible, even for the best. Well, he did a six run and lived to brag about it. There's no way some threes, fours, and fives could have taken him down. Besides, we never found any evidence of them. They just vanished." Scully nodded, then glanced apprehensively at the sky. "I hope everything you have is waterproof," she said. The clouds were almost black. "It looks like it is really going to pour." "Nah, it should be passing over. You guys are going to be in for a treat, though. This season has all sorts of huge rapids, from the melting snow." "Great," Mulder said, sounding less than enthusiastic. "Well, here's the road," Marty said, turning abruptly onto a dirt road. He didn't slow down at all, and the ride rapidly became like riding on a shaky roller coaster. For twenty minutes Scully sat in mortal terror, her seat belt digging into her waist, her hands gripping the seats in front of her until they began to cramp up. Then, they plunged through a patch of bushes and onto a rocky river beach. Close to the water stood a very small Tuff Shed. "You guys can go look around. I can handle everything myself." "Sure?" Mulder asked. "Absolutely. City slickers usually just get in the way." "Come on, Mulder," Scully said, getting out of the car. She was lucky her bladder was still functioning properly after such a ride. "I need to walk around some." ************************** Mulder took a deep breath of the fresh air, staring up at the high cliffs, then at the pristine water. The soft lapping of the rubber raft against the water was actually very soothing. It had taken Marty less than ten minutes to get everything set up, and even though the clouds were still black overhead, the sunrise looked to be a beautiful sight. For right now, the slow- moving comfortable pace was pleasant, and he was in no rush to go plunging into the white water. But, that was part of his job. He fumbled with his life jacket again, trying to fit a snap that kept popping out. "How long until we see some white water?" Asked Scully. She was sitting at the front of the boat, Marty in the middle, and him behind. "Not very," Marty said. "Another five minutes or so." Mulder glanced around, then chuckled when he saw Scully. Her life jacket looked impossibly big on her small frame. Her eyes, however, gleamed with excitement. "What happens if one of us falls out?" Mulder asked Marty, only half joking. "Try and stay afloat by pointing your toes downstream. Hope I can pick you up. Stay away from rocks." "Oh," Mulder said. He hated boats, and the very thought of plunging into the turbulence ahead was sickening. Then suddenly, the sound he had least been looking forward to hearing sought out his ears. He could hear the water roaring up ahead, around a bend. "Say goodbye to peace and tranquility," Marty quipped as he sharply steered them around a rock. "Shit!" It was all Mulder could say. The current ripped them off the soft, peaceful water and into a rolling, plunging nightmare. He heard Scully whoop with glee as the shot down a slope into a huge wave, completely drenching the whole boat. He clenched with all the strength he had to the ropes. Scully was right. He should have employed his degree to something a little wiser. He should have been a doctor too. A psychologist who wouldn't have to risk his life on every damn case. "Aiee!" He screamed involuntarily, watching in mortal terror as the front of their boat plummeted off a small cliff. He followed sickeningly after it, diving forward, over the edge. They were going to flip over! But no, as he slammed into the water below, the boat leveled off for three seconds. He saw Scully emerge from beneath a wall of water, and he was immensely relieved that she hadn't been swept away. The last thing he wanted to do was go into the freezing, freshly melted snow after her. "Here we go!" Yelled Marty over the thundering of the waves. Scully let out another cry as the boat was again swept forward, but it was with adrenaline and not terror. Damn Navy kid. Another endless three minutes of terrible rolling, plunging, diving horror. They missed four huge rocks by centimeters. Water had slammed over Scully's body more times than he cared to recall. His stomach was back in base camp. And, unlike a sickening ride at a local fair where one could scream loud enough to get off, there was no way to get the operator of this ride to stop. "Oh, Christ," he panted as the boat drifted out of the horrible turbulence and into a slow, gentle current. "Pretty cool, huh?" Marty said over his shoulder. "Yeah." "Mulder! Wow! That was great!" He glanced miserably at his partner. Her hair was flattened against her head, her face was covered in rivulets of water, and her clothes were soaked against her body. But her eyes were gleaming, and her countenance was that of a reckless teenager. "Hey," he said, waving weakly to her. He couldn't stop his hands from trembling. This was a really shitty assignment. "Are you alright, Mulder?" Her expression went from ecstatic to concerned in less time than it took his stomach to violently protest such abusive treatment. But he shook his head. "Yes, I'm fine. That was pretty rough, that's all." "Rough?!" Marty snorted derisively. "That's was about a three. Before this trip is over, you'll get to see some four's and five's. This is kiddie stuff." "Oh," Mulder said. "Gee. Great." Scully sent him a sympathetic glance, but she was too high off the adrenaline of nearly dying to care much about his new phobia. Oh, God, let something happen so I don't have to finish this damn trip, Mulder briefly thought, staring up at the heavy black clouds above. Anything. And then, God answered his prayers. There wasn't any warning. The skies just opened up and dropped all of their water at once on the river, completely saturating anything that had survived the run. He whimpered thankfully, glad they would now have to pull off and wait until the storm subsided. "Oh, yes!" Marty yelled. "A storm! Everything's going to be a five rating today! Boy, did you folks ever get lucky!" "You're not going to stop?" Mulder asked, instantly regretting the squeak in his voice. "No, there's no need to. No lightening is going to hit this water due to the cliff canyon, and we have to run through the main passage before the water's intensity rises too much." Mulder glanced up into the heavens again. Yeah, God was a real funny guy. Look at that. What a wise ass. "Wow, this is great" Scully said, vainly trying to dry her face off. "Great," he echoed faintly. "We're not even going to pull over for a break?" Both Scully and Marty stared at him. "I guess not," he answered for himself. "Ordinarily, if someone was having problems, I'd pull over," Marty said slowly. "But today we really have to haul ass." "I'm not having problems," Mulder growled defensively. ************************** Scully rolled her eyes and faced front. Her predictions about the storm were true. Never trust a smiling weatherman. She glanced back at her partner and saw the utter misery in his eyes. Who would have ever supposed that Mulder would be the one to dislike such an exciting sport? She was having a fabulous time. And in some little, rarely acknowledged part of her heart, she was glad to see that Queequeg's death was being revenged by the powers of fate. She was having a fabulous time. The bouncing, the rolling, the plunging . . . it was just like a roller coaster. Even the freezing temperature of the water wasn't that bad. The rain continued to shatter down on them, and she peered up into the sky in awe. It certainly didn't look as if there was enough water up there to create such pressure, to so completely soak everything. It was almost forty-five minutes later when Marty prepared them to face another gauntlet, and the storm showed no signs of relaxing. If anything, the driving rain looked as if it were coming down harder. Even the calmest water was beginning to rock. "Here we go again," Marty yelled, paddling faster towards a sharp drop up ahead. The roar of the approaching rapids filled her with anticipation. Until they got their fist view of the rapids ahead as the were swept to the edge. It looked hopelessly impassible, even to her untrained eye. The water was crashing against the rocks with uncontrollable intensity. There was no way they could ride that. "Oh, shit!" She heard Marty yell behind her. Marty was straining to row backwards, away from the edge, but if anything they were moving forward faster. "Hold onto your asses!" He yelled, giving up on the rowing. "I miscalculated the storm!" Panic filled her before he had even finished the words. They would all get tossed from the boat in a matter of seconds! This had to be a level six river, or a seven. She could feel her muscles going numb as she clenched her fingers against the rope. And as the boat began to move over the edge, she took a deep breath, knowing she might not get another one. There was no going back. The instant they splashed down, the boat was tossed upward. Her cry of terror caught in her throat as a huge wave, at least three times the size of those before, crashed down on her body, slamming her into the rubber and a moment later almost ripping her from the boat. She could hear the total panic in the men's voices behind her, but suddenly, even as her heart was racing and her body tense, her mind became very sharp, alert, and most of all, calm. The boat was tossed far into the air like a child's bath toy, and went slamming into a rock that nearly flipped them. Yet all through this she felt strangely at ease. Though she could barely get her eyes open long enough to see anything coming, there was a clarity to her surroundings. "Shit!" She heard Marty scream behind her. She half turned, just in time to see one of his oars catch on a rock, sweeping him backwards and right off the boat. Her first instinct was to leap to help, but the boat smashed down before she could blink, and Marty was gone. She looked farther back, searching for Mulder. He was still clinging to the ropes, his body straining in the mist. His life jacket was hanging completely off one of his arms. "Jesus," she felt herself whisper, as another wave plunged over her body. She felt the boat lunge to the side, almost pushing her in the opposite direction. Another huge wave slammed on her, pushing water deep into her nostrils. And when she turned to see Mulder, she only glimpsed him flying helplessly out of the raft, and the vest flying in the other direction. Absolute hysteria claimed her mind in less than a second. Mulder was going to die, especially without his life vest. He had no chance for survival. She was alone. "NO!" She screamed, daring God to defy her. And with that, she deliberately threw herself over the edge of the raft, trying desperately to pinpoint him. The current took her under instantly, filling her lungs with fluid death. Instead of fear, she became utterly enraged. With one hard kick she slammed herself up to the surface, gasping a breath as she could. Mulder was not going down, and neither was she! It was impossible to see anything. Only the waves as they came, plunging her back beneath the surface. But she would not give up. She fought her way upward, rolling over a wave instead of under it, and she barely glanced Mulder's arm go under only about ten feet away. Before she could even catch another breath, she was smashed downward by a wall of water, streams of fire- death shooting into her nostrils and lungs. Never, in all the injuries had she ever sustained, did she believe anything could be as painful as this. She tried to push upwards, knowing she had to get the water out and the precious air in, but the waves conspired to keep her below the surface. She never even saw the huge rock she was hurled into. Pain. Body numbing, brain-shattering pain. She felt her mind go blank, and her vision clouded dangerously. But again, she felt lifted, and with a roar of absolute fury, she forced her consciousness to stay with her. She drew on every reserve of strength she had, fighting, struggling, battling the water, reaching blindly in any direction for her partner. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, and ever time she went under it seemed as if it took longer to come up than the last time. The seconds were ticking dangerously by into minutes, and if she didn't find him soon . . . But there was no giving up. The flame running along her body where she impacted with the rock was irrelevant. And then, she connected with his body. He wasn't moving in the water. She desperately tried to flip him right side up, but the current smashed them into another rock. She felt her shoulder take the impact, jarring her vision, even as she turned to see the shore. Another wave of blackness slammed on her, but she pushed it away. Please help me, she begged mentally, her weak movements no match for the water. Please help me save him. A rush of almost superhuman strength flooded her limbs, and her grasp on his body renewed. Kicking, screaming, plunging, she forced herself in an agonizing inch-by-inch movement towards the shore. Mulder was dead weight in her arms, sweeping her hopelessly along, but she would not abandon him. If he was going down, so was she. "Ahhh!!!" She suddenly smashed the same shoulder into something solid, but she wasn't tossed from it, as the last rock. Between the battering waves she realized it was a tree that had fallen in the river and remained, wedged against a rock. Mulder's body was crushing against her's, and the water seemed as if it had to be coming from a source more powerful than a river . . . an ocean that had just broken from a dam. The pressure against her body was immense as it crushed her against the log, but there was no going back. Forcing herself into the tree, she managed to slowly inch towards the shore. It was a very slow process, and with each second that passed, she was sure another rib was getting bruised by the intense force of the water. After what seemed to be an ever-lasting eternity, sharp river rocks were suddenly tumbling beneath her feet, and the river gradually began to sweep past her, instead of with her. With a final desperate rush of strength she managed to pull Mulder from the water and on to the shore, the rain still cascading down on her, the wind whipping her hair against her face. She shrugged out of the scant remains of her life jacket (most of it had been torn away by tree limbs), and flipped Mulder over onto his back, leaning over him. He wasn't breathing. There was no pulse. She tilted his head back, pinched his nostrils, put her lips against his, and pressed air from her lungs into him, even though it caused her immense agony to do so. She pulled up, gasped another painful breath, and exhaled for him again, the whole time praying a wordless, desperately into the heavens. With a cough she tried again, then pulled up, placing her hands on his chest, to pump his heart. "One, two, three, four . . ." she cried, staring down at his unresponsive face. Fifteen compressions, three breaths, fifteen compressions. "Damn it, Mulder! You can't leave me!" Her hand rose off his chest to slap his face, to do anything to make him suddenly sit up and crack a wise ass joke. The screaming wind whipped away her cries, and the bullets of rain threatened to penetrate her skin. Above, the skies rumbled and thundered their discontent. But nothing happened. Horror deeper than she had ever experienced engulfed her as the angry waves had minutes before. She was going to loose him. She was too late. "NO!!" She pushed herself back on him, breathing for him, pumping his heart. "Damn you, don't you leave me! Damn it!" She slapped his head back again, trying to do anything, anything. Drops of rain slipped down his cheeks like tears. No response. He was going to die. He was going to leave her here alone with nothing but a corpse and the driving rain. This was how it was going to end. All the special times they had shared began to flood her memory as she looked into his cold face. The smiles, the touches, the rare, oh-so-rare embraces. The times she had chased after him to rescue him from himself. The time he had stayed with her when she was peering into the Valley of the Shadow. And then, as if someone had turned on the proverbial mental lightbulb, she suddenly recognized her emotions for him. She loved him. She adored his humor, his wit, his intensity. Perhaps, in a small way that had grown over the years, she always had. "I need you! I love you! Don't you dare leave me, Fox Mulder!" Her hands came crashing down on his chest. "You are not going to die on me, you bastard! BREATHE!!!" And then, just as she was lowering her head to touch his lips again, he suddenly convulsed beneath her, shuddering on the rocks, a chocking stream of water pouring out of his mouth. She lifted his head gently to give him better leverage, feeling a slow smile touch her lips. He began coughing violently, and that was enough. She held his head tightly to her, closing her eyes as tears of joy began to stream down her face. "Damn boat," he pronounced clearly before slipping again into unconsciousness. But she knew she had only won half the battle. The immense throbbing in her shoulder and chest was getting difficult to ignore, and the torrents pounding down from above would do nothing to lessen the situation. She desperately looked around, looking for anything to shelter in. . . a cave, a tree . . . A huge cabin lying just a few hundred yards away, atop a small cliff, with stairs going down to the shore . . . She couldn't believe it. She blinked against the rain, but the huge cabin was still there, its windows dark. She glanced once at Mulder, noticing the blood on his body, and for the first time how bitingly cold it was. Her shoulder was also bleeding profusely. "Please," she begged again of the skies. "Just give me the strength one more time." Grunting with the effort, tears streaming down her cheeks with physical agony, she forced Mulder to his feet, pulling him over her shoulder, supporting all of his weight as she staggered along the rocks, gasping against the rain. She went down three times, but there was no way she was going to stop. She finally managed to reach the stairs, and with a cry, she forced herself and the dead weight of Mulder's body up a flight. She paused only ten seconds before continuing, and after three flights, she as on level ground with the cabin, an accomplishment in light of the molten lava pulsing through her lungs. "Thank you," she whispered, hauling Mulder along to the back door. There was no car anywhere in sight and the house looked thoroughly shut up. Without pausing to knock at the back door, she slammed her foot into it, forcing it open. Sheets covered all the furniture, but she grimly kept moving through the house, up one more flight of stairs, and into the first room she saw, which must have been the master bedroom, due to its size. She settled Mulder on the pretty bedspread, then sank to the carpet, trying to draw a breath. With fumbling fingers she reached for the telephone by the bed. There was no dial tone. "Oh, fuck," she said. It seemed to phrase things perfectly. She gasped again as her shoulder and ribs complained waves of fire. "Even being a proctologist would have been better than this," she said aloud, crumpling against the side of the bed. But she wasn't finished yet. She forced herself to her feet and left the room, staggering downstairs to find a first aid kit. She still had so much to do for Mulder before she could begin to think about herself. ************************** When Mulder woke up to find himself under a down quilt, against soft pillows in an impeccably furnished and designed hardwood bedroom, he was absolutely convinced he had died and this was the afterlife. But when he looked closer and realized that the scenery out the lace curtained windows was of evergreens and a fierce black rainstorm raging on outside, and that the room looked remarkably like some of the more expensive luxury cabins he had been in, he began to really become confused. And he thought he was going crazy when he turned his head and found Scully curled up beside him, fully clothed, on the king sized bed. He couldn't but help notice a large bruise on her cheek, and that a spot on her forehead was bandaged. Her hair was a complete mess. "Scully?" For a moment she didn't move, but when he gently touched her shoulder she winced sharply and sat up, her eyes flying open in surprise. "Mulder! How are you feeling?" He paused for a moment, trying to assess that. He hurt. All over. His head, limbs, and his chest especially. Every breath drew a painful, tearing wheeze from his lips. "I don't feel well, but I'll live. Where are we? What happened? The last thing I remember is flying out of that damn boat . . . who found us?" "Nobody found us," she said, abruptly moving off the bed. Her face tightened in physical pain as she did so, and it did not escape his notice. "Then how did I get here?" He asked carefully. "You fell out of the boat, and I went in after you," she said softly, turning away. "You fell out too?" "No, I jumped in after you." Mulder felt his mouth drop open in shock. "You jumped in after me?" He repeated stupidly. "Really? Jumped? After me?" She nodded, saying nothing. "But where are we now?" He asked, bewilderedly looking about himself. The last time he checked, this stuff hadn't been packed in the boat. "When I managed to get you to shore we got lucky. There was a large cabin just off the river. It must be a summer home for some rich executive, because nobody's around. The telephones and the power have also been shut off." Mulder pushed himself off the bed, staring at her in wonder. He barely remembered falling out of the boat, and didn't remember anything after that, but he did recall how violent the water had been as they had been pulled into it. He stretched, grimacing. His joints were stiff, and he could feel the bruises where he had connected with a few rocks, but he would definitely live. He blinked a few times against the massive headache he had, and gingerly touched the bandage on his head. He noticed immediately he was dressed only in boxers. Pushing any embarrassment away, he wandered to the window. "Scully," he breathed when he managed to make it to his destination. The view consisted of a sharp cliff dropping into a rocky shore line, and by looking to the side he could see three flights of steps leading from the shore to the land up here. The river was still raging with the same intensity it had been roaring at before, the rain pelting downward with almost violent intensity. He shuddered as he stared into the white water. "You didn't do this by yourself," he said. "It's physically impossible." She wasn't offended at all. "I did. There's nobody else here," she said simply. "Jesus." He turned to the small woman, but she avoided his gaze. She had gone above and beyond the call of duty, friendship, and even love, and she had saved him by herself. A chill of death touched him. "It was close," she said, smoothing out the bed. He noticed various first aid equipment on the bedside table. He also noticed her stiff movements. "What happened?" "You fell out of the boat, lost your life jacket, and I went in after you. I managed to hang onto you until I could get us to shore, and then I . . ." she hesitated, turning to fiddle with the equipment. "You weren't breathing, and your heart wasn't beating. I used CPR, and managed to bring you back. Then, I dragged you from the shoreline up here." "You carried me up here?" "'Carried' is an exaggeration, but yes." His look of wonder turned to awe. "How long have we been here?" "A day or so. You had a head injury, and maybe a slight concussion, but it appears to be fine now. You were suffering from exposure, cuts and bruises, and of course nearly drowning, but you'll be fine for now. I've attended to all that. Nothing needed stitches." "And you?" He asked, turning from the window to move towards her. "Are you alright?" "I'm fine." But she said it stiffly, and he noticed again that even as she moved a little, she was in pain. "Dana," he said sternly. She turned to him in surprises, and he slowly crossed the room. She was dressed in a silk blouses that was a few sizes too large for her, and somewhat baggy 'beach comber' pans. He gently touched the bandage on her hairline, then brushed his hand on her shoulder, studying how she stiffened. "I think I have a cracked rib or two, and my shoulder was nearly dislocated. That and the occasional cut and bruise." "Let me see." "Mulder . . ." "Let me see." She silently unbuttoned the blouse, pulling it off her shoulders to expose the huge bruise that ran from her hip all the way up her body, and under her arm, connecting with a bruise and a bandage on her shoulder. She wasn't wearing a bra, but instead some sort of light weight sleeveless undershirt that cut off just below her breasts. Of course, he thought. A bra would cut into the bruise too much. The bruise itself was not just a light shade of blue, but a deep angry purple that betrayed how hard she had impacted with the river rocks. He knelt carefully, and delicately touched the discolored skin, noting how she recoiled from his touch as if he had burned her. He smiled at her gently, then turned her, running his fingers over the bruises along the small of her back, over the cuts and scrapes. Her body looked s if it had been beaten by six large men with very heavy clubs, especially her rib cage and shoulders. There was a shattering and a tiny tinkling inside his head, and he realized with a start that it was his heart breaking at the pain she had been forced to endure. "Oh, Scully," he whispered. She shrugged the blouse back on, hastily buttoning it. "I'm fine. You were my real concern, but you managed to miss most of the rocks." He grimaced as he staggered again to his feet. It didn't feel like he had missed most of the rocks, but his damage was nothing like Scully's. "The phones don't work?" "No, they don't, and we're miles off the road. I'm sorry, Mulder. I would have gone for help earlier, but I didn't want to leave you, and I didn't know if I could make it on foot . . ." "Scully! Christ, look at yourself! You don't have anything to be sorry for!" He wanted to pull her into an embrace to make her understand the sacrifice she had nearly made. She shook her head, then changed the subject. "The clothing of the woman who lived here is about four sizes too large for me, but the man's clothing is about your size." He nodded, staring at her in bewildered wonder. Had she honestly plunged into the water after him, fought the impossible current, then dagged him along a beach, and up three flights of stairs, all with cracked ribs? "There isn't much to eat," she said apologetically as she limped out the bedroom door. "And there isn't any warm water, so if you want a shower, you're going to have to suffer." He stared after hear. He still couldn't believe she had done this all by herself. She was so amazing. ************************** There was an odd ripping sensation as he was thrown from the boat, and headfirst into the river rock, as if he was being pulled upward, not into the water. Suddenly, the rain and the rocking of the water faded, and he could see clearly, everything from Marty bobbing further downstream to Scully, still clinging to the yellow raft, then leaping from it, into the torrent, after him. He watched, unable to do anything but float above her, as she was bashed into rock after rock, always searching for him, struggling and fighting death. He felt nothing, but could see his body (that was kind of weird, but natural, as well) bobbing up ahead. She continued to battle the current, then managed to connect with him, getting slammed into another rock and a tree, before she managed to haul him to the rocky river show. Her strength seemed to defy physics. He swooped in lower, feel his concern for her, and his body, grow. He could feel her pleas directed at God though she said nothing, and he could see how desperately she was performing CPR. "Damn it, Mulder! You can't leave me!" Her hand rose up and slammed into his cheek. "Leave you? I'm right here!" But his cry fell silent. "No, damn you, don't you dare leave me! Damn it!" He wasn't down there. He was dying. He could feel a pull from above, and even as he sought to move down to her, it continued to drag him upwards. He could feel her agony as well as his own. "I need you! I love you! Don't you leave me, Fox Mulder! You are not going to die on me, you bastard! BREATHE!!" I love you, too, Dana. Why didn't I realize it before? He flailed desperately against the air, and was suddenly dropped to the shore. There was a paternal chuckle above, and the pull abruptly ceased. He could feel the rocks beneath his feet, the rain as it slammed down on him. With a desperate cry, he leaped towards his body before the pull could begin again. He connected with his body, merging with it, and sank into it. Painful gasps of air flew into his lungs and bombarded his chest, but as he looked into Scully's tear-filled eyes, he realized it was all worth it. "Damn boat," he said, before sinking into a wave of blackness. ************************** Mulder sat up in bed, eyes wide with wonder from his dream. The room was dark, and outside of the covers it was chilly, but he pushed himself form the bed and pulled on a robe, silently opening the door. There was a small office next to his bedroom, but directly out of it was a bridge going over the lower story of the house to the bedrooms on the other side. Scully, seeing that he didn't need any help, had claimed a room on the other side of the bridge. He tiptoed the fifteen feet to her door, pausing for a few moments to listen. But everything was silent. What a bizarre dream, the thought, going back to his room. But something about that didn't ring quite true. There was no dream-like quality. It had been straight, as genuine as memory. He stared at the ceiling, wondering, but sleep didn't come easily. A sensation began to grow stronger in him, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. Had the always perfectly controlled Agent Scully fallen in love with him? ************************** "I had a weird dream last night," Mulder said at breakfast. The wind of the storm bashed tree limbs against the windows of the kitchen, but neither of them noticed. The powerful storm had been raging all night, and they had grown accustomed to the storm's wailing. "What was it about?" She asked, rising stiffly to help herself to more apple juice. They had made it from frozen concentrate in the freezer. She glanced up at him, and smiled. He had looked far better when he had come down the next morning. In far better health than she looked. "I dreamt that I was outside my body when all this happened," he said. "When I got thrown out of the boat . . ." She felt herself stiffen entirely against her will, and the stiffening only enraged her battered body. She pushed down the wave of misery and forced her voice to remain normal. "What happened?" She could feel his eyes studying her. "Well, I feel out of the boat, but I feel up, not down. I watched you go in after, and how you hit some rocks, then grabbed me and pulled me out of the water, you know, like you described. I was floating there as you started CPR, and you like smacked me," he paused to take a long drink. Her stomach dropped a good six inches in her body, and she cold literally feel the blood draining from her face. "Did something else happen?" She asked, pouring the juice, then turning her back on him. "I don't know. You screamed at me a lot. Did that happen in real life?" "Yes. I mean, no. I mean, Mulder, your imagination is probably just supplying information about that happened to you." "That should explain it, because you said something really weird to me." "What was it?" She asked. He couldn't possibly . . . "It's stupid. Forget I ever said anything." "No, tell me." "I . . . I don't now. It sounded like you said something about . . . I don't know . . . loving me." Oh, no. He remembers. "Well, like I said, memory, Mulder, can often be distorted by . . ." "Look at me, Scully." She turned to him, knowing that not doing so would instantly confirm any suspicions he had. But when she met his intense, scrutinizing gaze, everything fell apart. She couldn't feel her expression change, but in a milliseconds he knew the truth. As sure as if she had screamed it. His eyes widened, then dropped. "Oh," he said. An awkward silence fell. She put the juice down and rapidly walked away from the kitchen, even though moving so quickly was desperately painful. She flew up the stairs, and into the small den at the top, not even bothering to go to her room. She slammed the door, sinking against the wood. She couldn't just avoid him. And she had never wanted him to know the truth. Even as she was adoringly bandaging him and caring for his wounds, she knew he could never know. Mulder did not return her love, and it would only get worse if he knew. But now . . . She closed her eyes, trying to battle against the sobs that sought to claim her body. She loved him so much, to the point of risking everything she had; mind, body, and soul, but it wasn't returned. She wanted to lay down and die. There was a soft knock above her head, but she didn't move. "Scully . . ." "Mulder, please . . ." "Scully . . ." The door opened and he walked in, immediately pausing to stare down at her. But she remained silent, trying to choke down her sobs, her face buried in her hands. She sensed him standing over her, and she didn't even have the luxury of becoming enraged with him. It was always understood between them. They were working partners, even friends, but never anything more. Ever. "Damn it," she whispered. "I don't know what to say," he said. "When did you . . ." She shook her head. "When I thought you were going to die. Mulder, please, leave me alone. I never meant for you to find out about this." "I can't, Scully. You are my best friend." He sank to the floor in front of her, lifting her face up. "I wish we could . . ." Hope sparked even before she could kill it. " . . . have a relationship with each other." He paused, holding her face tenderly in his hands. Her spark flared into a bon fire. "Mulder . . ." " . . . But they would destroy the X-files, and I'm not sure if I could handle that. It's not you, it's me . . . I . . . I just don't return your . . . emotions. I'm so sorry, Scully . . . Dana. I don't think you'll ever understand how sorry." Her emotions plummeted further than they ever had, and she found herself wishing she had hit a rock in the river a little harder, just enough to loose consciousness and die peacefully in the storm. "I understand," she said. She rose from the floor, trying not to wince as the flames shot into her lungs. She turned slowly, straightening her shoulders. At the very least, she could appear dignified. But even as she took her fist step away, she was possessed. She fled across the bridge to the sanctuary of her bedroom, but didn't get four steps before she felt Mulder's arms wrap around her. "Damn you, let me go!" She screamed, twisting to escape his arms. "No! Dana, I have to tell you something . . ." "Damn it!" She fought against him, but the pain in her torso was too much to withstand. She sank helplessly into his arms, and he gently lowered her to the carpet. "Stop, oh, Jesus, Mulder, stop." "Dana, I have something incredibly important to tell you." She gave up. There was no escaping him. But she knew if he offered words of sympathy, she was going to burst into flames of embarrassment on the spot. "Well, let's hear it then," she said miserably. He continued to hold her in his arms, but moved so he could look into her eyes, forcing her chin up with his fingers. "I love you," he said quietly. "I was just kidding back there." He didn't just say that. There was no way he said that. She shook her head. She was hearing things. Too much water in her ears. She refused to even think about hoping for him. "What?" She gasped, searching his serious face. He smiled and kissed her forehead. "I love you, Dana Scully, you lion-hearted woman. I was playing with you back there. I wasn't serious at all . . . not in the least!" He punctuated the last statement with another kiss to her forehead, then pulled back to gauge her reaction. She stared unblinkingly back into his eyes, hardly daring to believe him. "You're not serious," she said. "I'm very serious, indeed. I can even prove it to you," he said, tilting her face up. She trembled away from his lips for just a second as he moved in on her, but there was no escape from his arms. Even though . . . even though she had to sacrifice her independence, it was worth it. Taking a deep breath, she moved forward, and brushed her lips hesitantly against his. For a moment she just enjoyed being so close to him, but reflexively she began kissing him harder, lifting her hands to touch his face, then to gently run through his hair. She didn't even care whether or not this was really happening. She felt herself sinking into his arms, the tender way he held her close. But he drew away first. "Our first kiss," he said, running a hand along her cheek, brushing her stray strands of fiery red hair over her ear. "Not quite the first," she whispered, smiling. "Oh, I suppose that's right." He snuggled her head against his chest. "But the first time I was unconscious, so it didn't count." She inhaled deeply. Mulder's scent was light, fresh, and decidedly manly. And all his own. He smelled as no store-bought product could . . . he smelled like he was her's. She could still barely believe she was in his arms. "You sick bastard," she said, gently slapping his arm. "I'm never going to forgive you for doing that to me." He laughed, squeezed her, then playfully pulled her to her feet. She tried to keep her features smooth, there was no way to prevent the wince of pain as her muscles moved against her bruised ribs. He immediately let go of her, an expression of regret capturing his features and creating the finest lines on his forehead. The pain was almost tolerable when he looked like that. "From a dramatic standpoint I should pull you into the bedroom and make sweet love to you for the rest of the day," he said, directing her into his bedroom. "Except I don't think either of us could do that right now without passing out." She grinned up at him, but nodded. "So," he continued, "I'm going to take care of you for once. I'm in better shape than you are right now, anyway." "I'm fine," she said, but even as she did, she couldn't control herself as her features contorted in discomfort. He chuckled and shook his head. "You don't always have to be so independent with me. Let me take care of you. You saved my life," he said, taking her hand. He brought it to his lips, then rubbed his cheek against her skin. "I never thanked you for that." "It goes unsaid," she murmured softly, embarrassed that he was even impressed with her actions. "I would do it again, if I had to." She looked up swiftly as his breath caught, and a look of awe was carved into his features at her statement. "You darling woman," he said, dropping her hand. He gently pushed her into his bedroom, then sat her down on the edge of his bed. She could hardly believe it. He was standing over her, loving her. Her heart was screaming in her chest, and she could feel fresh tears ready in her eyes. He tenderly moved his hands to the collar of the blouse she was wearing. Her breath caught almost painfully in her throat, then stopped all together as he began to pull each button from its notch. "Mulder," she said imploringly. He paused, stared down at her, and laughed. "Dana, for godsake, you can call me Fox now." She laughed too, absolutely delighted. "All right then, Fox," she said, leaning into his hands. "How are you going to take care of me? And I'm not wearing anything under this." "You are going to rest," he commanded, going back to the buttons. "You are not going to worry about me. As for not wearing anything under this blouse, that's not a problem. You can trust me, Dana. I promise I won't hurt you." "Fox . . ." He put a finger to her lips, silencing her. "I don't want to hear any complaints," he said sternly. "You are going to relax and heal if I have to beat you into comatose submission." She shut up, but couldn't keep a smile off her face. He was such a darling. Mulder tenderly pulled apart the last button and slipped the blouse off her shoulders, dropping it carelessly at his feet. She didn't feel exposed before him in the slightest. She had already exposed so much for him . . . her body was no obstacle. "God," he whispered. She stared back up at him, feeling the utter trust grow even stronger within her as his fingers brushed along the bruises. He peeled off the bandage on her shoulder and let out a gasp of amazement to see the deep gash where the tree cut into her. "It's nothing, really," she said, trying to wipe the look of deep concern off his face. He ignored her completely, and she could feel herself shuddering slightly as her cleaned the wound and put a fresh bandage on. He continued to examine her, studying every bruise and cut, missing nothing. She was so happy she could hardly stand it. She wondered suddenly if this was how he had felt when she attended to his wounds. "Stay here," he said softly, turning to disappear into the bedroom's walk-in closet. He returned a second later with a silk night gown. He pulled it over her head tenderly, not even in the least aggravating her injuries. She couldn't believe that this was happening. That he was touching her, dressing her. The silk rustled against her skin like a lover's breath. She could hardly stand the bittersweet sensation of the action. He pulled her again to her feet, going down on his knees to untie the string to the pants that were so large on her. Not a single motion of his was in any way overtly sexual, but somehow it increased the sensual pleasure of his motions to indecent proportions. He loosened the pants and let them fall over her hips and to her ankles. The dress fell to her mid-thigh, but he pulled it up to examine her hips and legs. She felt completely at ease. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly, surprising her as he kissed her stomach. "What? For what?" "For falling out of the boat," he muttered. His large hands moved lightly over her hips, but he hesitated to do anything more. She let out a shaky sigh of frustration. More than anything else, she wanted to make love to him, to feel his touch, and right now she was physically incapable of it. He kissed her stomach again, sending a ripple of shivers up her spine, then dropped the gown. "Come on, into bed," he commanded again. She settled herself back on the sheets, then twisted around to lay flat on her back, her head against his pillow. He pulled the covers over her, then sat on the edge of the bed. For the fist time she could feel herself actually relax. She didn't have to worry about being half awake in case he needed her. She didn't have to worry about keeping up the facade of false emotions for him. She could simply put herself completely into his hands, like a child, and let him take care of her. Laying down made it easier to draw a breath and put less stress on the bruises. "We do need to discuss some things," she said slowly as he brushed her hair against the pillow. "Like what?" "Like the fact that the Bureau must think we're dead. That we can't just stay here. Eventually this storm is going to end." He moved his hand to her face, resting his thumb against her cheek, his palm cupping her jaw, his fingers under her ear. She could still feel every place that he had touched her, still burning against her skin. She turned her head slightly to kiss his palm, then his fingers. "So what? You'll be whisked away to a hospital where you'll get crappy food and a fat nurse who won't let me visit." "And my mother will be going out of her mind." He pulled his hand away, and looked down at her thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right. I could jog down to the road, but who knows how long that could take?" "Maybe there's a bike or something in the garage," she said weakly. Fatigue slammed into her. "I don't really care." "Well, I'm going to look around," he said, rising. "Try and go back to sleep." She yawned, but managed to catch his hand. "One other thing, Fox." "What?" "Whatever possessed you to do something so mean to me this morning?!" She said it with a grin, but somewhere deep in the filing cabinet of her heart, she was distinctly hurt by his little prank. But he smiled and kissed her hand. "I'm sorry I startled you so badly. The devil made me do it. He thought if I made myself look unavailable to begin with, you'd want me all the more." She laughed and pulled her hand away as he promptly disappeared out the bedroom door. She shook her head silently, then let out a shaky sigh. Just being able to trust him, to let him take care of her, was difficult enough without his putting her on an emotional roller coaster. But this way, it was so much easier to rest, to breathe without feeling as if her lungs were being blow-torched. And the exhaustion of the last week was catching up with her. In moments, she was asleep. ************************** Fox Mulder whistled as he strolled down the sidewalk to Scully's apartment. Tonight was her first night home. It had taken almost an hour for him to find a bike, pump it up, ride down the long drive, and catch a passing car. Of course, the storming whether had not let up, and it was generally a miserable experience. After that, however, things moved swiftly. Scully was whisked away from the house to the local hospital, the owners of the home were called and compensated, papers were filed, Scully's distraught mother was contacted, and information was exchanged. A few newspapers even picked up on the story of Scully's heroic rescue and ran with it. Thankfully, though, the hospital offered her just what he wanted for her . . . peace and relaxation. Her injuries were as she had guessed, four cracked ribs, a deep laceration on her shoulder, bruises and some cuts. He had barely been able to say hello and good-bye to her, much less be alone with her at all. It was easy to think that what they had shared four weeks ago might just be a figment of his imagination. He knocked quickly on her door, shuffling from foot to foot in anticipation. Dana came to the door a few moments later, a quirky smile pulling at her lips as she recognized him. "Hi," she said softly, stepping back to let him in. "Hi," he said, pulling the red roses he had bought her out from behind his back. She took them, but there was an air of reluctance about her. His suspicions immediately rose. "Sit down," she said, gesturing to the couch. "Is there something wrong?" He asked as she settled into a chair across from him. She was still moving stiffly, but he could tell she wasn't in constant pain anymore. Whatever painkiller drugs she was on, they were doing their job. "Yes, Mulder, I think there is." She looked him directly in the eyes and sat up straighter. "I think . . . I . . . misled you about my emotions in the cabin. At the time, I was very confused. Mulder, I've had two weeks to think clearly about the issue, and I'm sorry, but . . ." He could literally feel the blood draining from his face. Her expression was so completely earnest, so professional, as if she was discussing nothing more than a case. She wasn't kidding. Dana Scully never joked around. "Dana," he said, leaning forward in the chair. "I'd prefer 'Scully', Mulder. I was confused. You are a really good friend, my best friend, and I was honestly terrified of losing you, but I think it clouded my emotions and judgement at the time." "You're kidding, right? As revenge?" He asked, trying to squelch the little boy squeak in his voice. "No, I'm not. I've had almost a month away from you to reflect, and I've decided I don't want to move this relationship past what we have." She suddenly leaned forward compassionately, her cool exterior breaking. For the first time tonight he was seeing her again, not her work persona. "Mulder, I'm sorry, really. It's my fault, in this case, I lead you on. I told you something that just wasn't true." "Dana . . . Scully . . . are you sure? I mean, whenever you move out of work into . . ." "I'm sure, Mulder. I realized how much I care about you, but I think even I didn't really understand in which way." She wasn't kidding. There wasn't a single overt glance, not even a slight smile that could betray her joke. She was serious. "I see," he said, standing. He wouldn't beg. He'd think about it tomorrow. But the one thing he knew was that he had to get out of here now. She stood as well, watching in silence as he strode across the room to her front door. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said, honest anguish in her voice. He opened her door and slammed out, leaving the roses behind. Even as he was walking to his car he was listening to hear her run up behind him. To leap into his waiting arms and laugh. To delight in the knowledge that she had tricked him. But she didn't follow. It was true. Dana . . . Scully . . . had most certainly not fallen in love with him. He paused for a few moments by his car, but standing alone in the evening only confirmed his suspicions. It was true. As horrible as it was, it was true. He got in the car, and slammed the door, hesitating only a moment before punching the gas pedal and fleeing. What a nightmare. He stormed into his apartment, kicking a harmless wall in frustration. He couldn't even remember driving home, he was so upset. He sat down on his futon, but got all upset again, and stood up, rapidly pacing back and forth. Gritting his teeth with frustration, he picked up his basketball and started bouncing it violently against the floor. Who cared what time it was? She had saved his life, certainly risking her own. She was so strong. Why he had never realized how much he had cared for her was beyond him. His life was cursed. That must be it. One big joke. Then, there was a soft knock at his door. "Mulder, it's me. Mulder, I'm sorry. Please, can I see you? We need to talk." The concern in her tone was soft acid against his raw nerves. For a moment he froze, considering not answering the door, but she had a key anyway. Yes, his life was most certainly cursed. He unlocked the door silently, stepping away before even opening it. He put his back to her as she pushed the door open. He could feel her eyes on him. "Mulder, we have to talk." "I understand, Scully," he said, going over to the window. He could dimly see her reflection in the glass, and she didn't seem to be wearing her standard business suit, or even her standard 'off duty' clothing. It looked almost as if she was in . . . well . . . he thought he could see her almost bare shoulders, and her hair looked as if it had been swept up. Great. Now she was teasing him. "Look at me, Fox." He had to be strong. Keep his chin up. Be a man and all that. He knew turning around would dissolve that. "Leave me alone," he snarled half-heartedly, keeping his back to her. "I'm not leaving until you look at me." He whirled abruptly, prepared with a sudden speech of fury that would hurt her as much as she had hurt him. When he saw her, though, it rushed out of his mind. She was dressed in a royal blue evening dress that matched her eyes. Spaghetti straps curled over her creamy bare shoulders, and the hem of the skirt was brushing against her mid thigh. While the fabric was by no means skin tight, it still seemed to accent her petite build perfectly. The bodice of the dress curved over her breasts, leaving just enough to the imagination. Her hair was pulled up into a French twist, tendrils of curls framing her face. In her hands was one of the roses he had brought her. It hurt him just to look at her. "Why are you here?" He asked. A smile curved across her generous lips. She crossed her arms and stared at him. It was all she had to do. "You were . . . joking?" The smile grew a little bigger, and an eyebrow arched playfully. She looked down at the rose, gently plying its petals apart. "You deserved it," she said, keeping her eyes down. He moved closer to her, and she lifted her eyes. "I knew it all along," he said immediately, taking her face in his hands. She smiled beautifully at him. "Sure you did. You saw right through my Academy Award winning performance." He bent down, finding her lips with his own, a tender, brushing kiss to begin with before he pulled her into an embrace. She gave into him, perfectly willing. Her mouth opened, taking his, gently, soft, and silky. He was so relieved to have her in his arms again, and he could hardly stand it. But it was she who pulled back first. "From a dramatic standpoint I should pull you into your bedroom and make passionate love to you for the rest of the evening," she said, looking challengingly into his eyes. "I hope there's not a 'but' coming," he said, not letting go of her. "But," she continued, "I didn't get all dressed up just to impress you. You can at the very least take me out to dinner, Agent Mulder." He eyed her fancy dress, and wanted to groan. Any place that would be appropriate to take her to would no doubt take hours to serve the food and eat . . . and right now all he wanted to do was lead her by the hand into his bedroom. "Fair enough," he said instead, reluctantly letting go of her. "I could put on a nice suit." "But not one of your ties!" The false alarm in her voice both irritated him and made him chuckle. "Don't worry, you can choose my tie, Scully." He stepped back, admiring her from the French twist to the high heeled pumps. He had never seen her so beautiful . . . she was such a totally foreign creature now, so completely alien from that he had seen the last five years. Yet this was most certainly a natural part of her, as well. "I'll wait here," she said, lowering herself to his futon couch. He dashed into his bedroom, throwing open his closet door. The sooner he got her out, the sooner they had dinner, the sooner they'd be back. He pulled off his tee-shirt and jeans instantly, dashing around in his boxers. It wasn't until he turned frantically to pick up a pair of pants when he realized she was watching him silently from his bedroom door. "Hi," he said, standing up, supertisously holding the pants in front of him. "I changed my mind," she said with amusement. "Let's not go out." Mulder crossed the room, but she didn't move. "No more joking," he said, stopping in front of her. Her sly smile became serious. "I love you, Dana. For saving my life, for standing behind me, for everything. I just never realized how much." The was suddenly nothing but pure love in her eyes. No more jokes. The gentle tilt of her head, the way she softly leaned against the door frame demonstrated her returning emotions. "I love you too, Fox. Let's stop playing games for a little while." But before taking her in his arms he had to be sure. The last thing he wanted to do was screw up this relationship too. Especially this relationship. "I don't want to push you," he said, barely managing to force the words out. "We can wait." "We've been waiting long enough." She moved into him, putting her hands against his bare chest. "I'm still not in top condition, but I certainly feel better than I did four weeks ago. If you're gentle with me . . ." She t railed off, looking up into his eyes suddenly. He thrilled to the tender note in his voice, to the sudden way she looked away shyly. So the enigmatic Dana Scully wasn't completely confident. "I can be very gentle," he finally said. He pulled her hands off his chest and took a step back, hold them in his own. "And you do look so beautiful." She looked nervously past him at the bed, then turned and met his eyes again. She as such a wonderfully mysterious creature, one moment confident, the next nervous. He guided her across the wooden floor stopping her just short of the bed. She paused, slightly unsure of herself. "Don't move," he said. "Close your eyes." Scully looked at him, but suspiciously closed he eyes. He switched off his bedroom lamp. The blue light of the moon was shining brightly into his bedroom. The dark shadows of his blinds crossed the bed, and they crossed her slim body as she stood. For a moment he did nothing but touch her with his eyes, taking this image into his mind forever. Then, carefully, he moved behind her and touched her shoulders. The sharp intake of her breath sent his blood racing. He touched her ear, and then her neck with his lips, pulling the pins from her hair to let the red curls fall over her shoulders. "Can I open my eyes, Fox?" "No, not yet." With a light touch he pulled his hands from the top of her neck to the zipper of the dress. She tensed beneath his fingers as he began to pull the zipper down, almost trembling at his touch. And at the small of her back, the zipper ended. Running his hands up her spine and over her shoulders, then under the spaghetti straps, he paused for only one uncertain second. She was silent, her eyes still closed. With a deep breath, he lightly pushed the straps off her shoulders. The fabric slipped off her body and to her ankles in one, fluid, movie-like motion. He stepped in front of her, studying the fineness of her features. She was in a strapless bra and panties, and it was almost enough to see her like this now. He put his hands over her tiny waist, sinking to his knees, massaging his hands over her hip, thighs, and knees. He gingerly pulled one foot up, holding her ankle as he pulled the heel off. Her fingers slid into his hair as he pulled off her shoes, leaving her barefoot on the hardwood floor. He touched his lips to her knees, then stood up again. The bruises still marred her flawless body, but they had faded, almost disappearing in the forgiving light. "I still can't look?" Dana asked, a definitely un-Scully-like giggle escaping her. "No." He found her lips, pulling her into him. Her body completely against his . . . oh god. She leaned into him, completely letting go of herself. It was so hard not to give into his immediate temptations. His hands feverishly found the clasp on her bra and pulled it apart, carelessly tossing it to the floor. Undressing her this time was so much different than it had been the fist. This time passion and desire were the prevailing emotions, not concern and anguish. Mulder, feeling like the hero of some grand, sweeping romantic drama, carefully bent down and swept her up into his arms, then lightly placed her on the bed. "Oh!" She suddenly gasped. He felt her stiffen in pain, then relax again in his arms. He immediately backed off to sit on the side of her bed, taking her hands in his own. "I'm alright, just a little tender," she whispered. He put his hand gingerly on her stomach, then kissed her lips again. "The last thing I could ever want to do is hurt you," Mulder said with a chuckle. She sat up quickly, only inches away from his face. Her kiss was reassurance enough that she was fine. It was hard to believe she was actually in his arms. Granted, even when he had first met her, there had been an immediate attraction, but distrust has prevented him from acting on it, then friendship had, later. And then there had been so many happenings along the way that had curbed his love for her. He kissed her again on the lips, then on the cheek, moving slowly down her neck. "Fox," Dana said imploringly as he kissed her shoulder. He moved over her as carefully as he could, careful not to press on the delicate bruises. Her hands went from his hair to his waist, and with a sly grin she pulled at his boxers. His hands automatically followed her example, moving to her hips, grabbing at the fabric, and pulling the panties off. "Easy," she gently admonished, reaching up to hold his face. He took her hands, interlocking her fingers with his own, pulling them above her head. He couldn't but help pause over her, and notice how completely vulnerable she was to him. Yet this wonderful creature was not only giving him her full consent, but her love as well. "Fox, please," she moaned, beseechingly. His own need was growing painfully, but he couldn't risk harming her. He kissed her stomach, the base of her throat, each of her breasts. She was shaking now, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He slid his hand between her thighs, parting them easily. Then, pausing over her only another second, he entered her, pulling her hips gently into him. She met him, crying out with pleasure, every breath and movement with his. She cried out as the rhythm increased, and he barely heard is own cries, so focused was he on her. He couldn't think about anything but giving her pleasure, and making her happy. Gone were the days of selfish love-making . . . she was the cause. Her fingers clenched against his, her hot skin pressed against him, her pleas faint in his ear. The climax slowly built, each movement perfectly together. He respected her, loved her, and now . . . The climax broke, and both of them completely unaware of anything but each other. The burn of her flesh against his was so strong. They were for once one connected being, completely devoid of individual pettiness. This was the perfect, higher experience. This was sheer bliss, joy, and heaven. The pleasure she could bring him, the delight and satisfaction of finally having someone to love . . . and to touch . . . it proved . . . She was his perfect match. "I love you," she whispered as he settled beside her, both of them spent and exhausted. Dana rested her head against his shoulder, wrapping her slim arms around him. Her curls were delicately tickling his arm, her lips only inches away from his, her leg wrapped over his. "And I'm not letting you out of my grasp, ever." Mulder chuckled and wrapped his arm around her in turn, surprised at the simple delight of her soft, forbidden skin against his chest. He eyed the ceiling for only a second, feeling a quirky smile touch his lips. He briefly ran his fingers over the curve of her breast, content in the satisfaction that he could. They had really done something 'bad'. Shame on them. It was totally worth it. ************************** Scully woke up first, only slightly surprised to find herself in Mulder's arms. But it was one of the sweetest sensations she had ever felt in her entire life. He was so incredibly, surprisingly gentle. She didn't care that the Bureau frowned upon interpersonal relationships. She had plunged into that river, putting her life on the line, and she had earned this. Smiling to herself, she carefully slipped out of his warm arms, padding naked across his hardwood floor to his closet. She opened it, expecting to find his shirts hanging within. They were in a pile of clean clothes on the closet floor. She couldn't but help chuckle. Talk about bachelor living. She pulled one of his business shirts out of the tangled mess, savoring the fresh scent of his cologne, and of his clean laundry. She pulled his shirt on, quietly giggling when she saw the hem of the shirt reached her upper thigh. "Hey. You aren't walking out on me, are you?" She turned, smiling to see his tousled hair, the little-boy look of concern. "No, I'm not," she said. The sunlight shining in his window was absolutely beautiful as it cascaded on the bed where they had made love. It was unbearably wonderful. She was so happy it almost hurt. "Stealing my clothes?" "Sure." She went back over to the bed and sat delicately on the edge, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Well, Agent Mulder, where are we supposed to go from here?" He leaned into her touch, then suddenly settled back, an air of boredom masking his features. "I don't know. I think we made a mistake. I don't think we should see each other." She laughed and leaned forward to touch his lips, delighted when he pulled her into him. "Well, that's not acceptable, Agent Mulder." He grinned. "Well, never mind, then. I guess we go from here into the kitchen." She lingered for a moment longer, wondering if she should escalate her advantage, but decided to break away, instead. "Seriously," he said, grabbing her hand as she stood. "Did we make a mistake?" She paused, staring back into the beautiful hazel eyes she had spent five years staring into. "No. I would do it again . . . Fox." "Promise?" There was that sly, patented Mulder-smile. "I promise," she said, returning the smile. "And now, I think I'm going to cook you a decent breakfast." "Wow, what a woman. She can cook, too." She stood up, smoothing the shirt, and was almost to his door when he called to her. "Dana?" "Hm?" She turned, leaning against the frame. But his countenance was serious. He wasn't playing right now. "When you said you'd go into the water again for me . . . back at the cabin, I mean . . . did you really mean . . ." Without a word she walked over to him. She didn't know what she could say to explain it to him. How he meant more to her than her own life. Then, it came to her in the form of a Celine Dion song. "'I will risk everything, I will fight, I will bleed, I will lay down my life, if that's what you need. Every second I live, that's the promise I make." She cradled his face in her hands, touching the top of his head with her lips. "Fox, darling, 'that's what I'll give, if that's what it takes.'" The End!!!! Title: The Celine Series - "Only One Road" Author: CC Decker Feedback: Oh, god, please . . . I write these stories for you, the public, and if you've read it, please be kind enough to at least let me know! Please, please, please! This isn't a drama, it's a comedy piece, and I want to know if I made you laugh. I want to be a sitcom writer, and I need to know if other people think I'm funny! If it brought a smile to your face, please email me! Category: TH Rated: PG-13 Summary: What *really* happened to Queequeg after that supposed alligator attack, straight from the poor pup's mouth . . . Time span/ Spoilers: Well, 'Quagmire', obviously, and other third season stories. Keywords: Queequeg, Quagmire, humor Only One Road There is only one road I'm walkin' Only one lifetime, one heart to guide me Only one road I'm walkin' But I'm gonna run back, I'm gonna run back 'Cause I need you right here beside me "Only One Road," Celine Dion Vancouver, Canada Hello there! No, no, I'm not new to the area, I'm just passing through. You smell like a nice fellow. You mind if I stay a while here? The vent right there is blowing nice, warm air, and I'm very cold. No, I'm not lost. I'm missing my human, but it wasn't my fault. You want to hear about it? It doesn't look like your Master is going to come out tonight, and the night will be long. Okay, I'm glad. Why thank you! Your bed is so very nice and warm. You're a very generous fellow. But I suppose you want me to just get on with my story of how I came to be here. Let me tell you: Being the best friend of a government agent is no easy job. That's not a complaint, just a statement of fact. I loved Mistress Scully. And I think she loved me. It's sort of hard to tell. I wasn't with her that long. When it all comes down to it, I blame the man in her life. I'm not sure if he was her mate, or one of those poor, odd fellows that just doesn't seem to act on his "natural urges" (you know, he got the . . . snip, snip . . . ), but he didn't like me a bit. And if it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have been taken from Mistress Scully. I miss her a lot. But I'm ahead of myself. It all started on a grey, dark morning. Mistress Scully woke up early, to a phone call, then started rushing about. I could tell that the voice inside the phone was that Mulder guy, but how he managed to get himself into her phone was beyond me. I made a note to check it out later, and followed Mistress Scully through her house as she shoved various items into her bags. "I can't believe him," she said to me, leaning over to tousle up my fur. "How on earth could he expect me to be ready in five minutes?" I growled my agreement. "Well, in any case, I suppose you're going with me, little guy." She hastily picked me up, threw a bag over her shoulder, and grabbed her keys, glancing out the window as Mulder pulled up in the car. I squirmed delightedly in her arms as she carried out my pet box in her other arm. I love car trips. There's nothing like the wind whipping tears in your eyes as the smells assault your senses. But on the other hand, we could be going to the Evil Man who prodded me, cranked open my mouth to look at my teeth, and poked a long, sharp thing into me. But Mistress Scully didn't seem nervous or secretive, so I decided this must be a pleasure trip. The first thing Mulder did when he saw me tucked under Mistress Scully's arm was roll his eyes. I lifted my teeth at him, to show him who was boss, but he ignored my signals as he gestured to Mistress Scully to put me in the backseat. "Saturday morning, Mulder," she said, irritation dripping in her voice. I danced around on the back seat, trying to express how angry I was at having my play day with Mistress Scully ruined. Yet again, however, he didn't pay any attention to me. I have to admit, it's really hard for me to see what Mistress Scully sees in him. One bite from me in a real fight and he'd be over on his belly with his neck exposed before I could wag my tail. "Well, we'll be at the airport with plenty of time to spare. Isn't it going to cost a whole lot extra to bring him?" Mulder gestured over his shoulder at me, and I snarled again. "Not really." Mulder shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter. Uncle Sam foots the bills." ************************** Let me tell you . . . you have to be careful when traveling with your master. No sooner had we arrived at our destination did I find myself shoved into the Pet Taxi, given to a strange man, hauled out to this giant steel bird, and put in its belly. For two hours I trembled against the sides of my box, wondering if I'd ever see the sun, and my Mistress Scully, again. It was horrible, awful, and I hope no pet ever needs to go through that nightmarish experience. When I saw Mistress Scully again, after the man came to get me out of the steel bird's belly, I nearly shook myself apart with happiness. Then, when we got back in a different car, I began to wonder what the point of it the steel bird was. Why didn't we just stay in the car? Anyway, we had been in the new car, which smelled of aging businessmen, for several hours before I found it necessary to relate to Mistress Scully my 'needs'. As I danced around in the back seat, whining, they both glanced at me, and Mistress Scully turned to Mulder, who was driving. "Nature's calling. I think we should pull over soon." Mulder glanced at Mistress Scully, then pulled his eyes back to the road. "Did you really have to bring that thing?" Mistress Scully paused for a moment before answering him. "You wake me up on a Saturday morning, tell me to be ready in five minutes, my mother is out of town, all of the dog sitters are booked, and you know how I feel about kennels. So, unless you want to lose your security deposit on the car, I suggest we pull over." Damn straight, I thought. "Ah, well, I think I'm lost anyway. I gotta stop and ask for directions." Mistress Scully looked down at her hands as Mulder looked at her. "Well, I know I'm lost as to why you're so interested in this missing persons' case." "Dr. Bearly works for the US Forestry Service. That makes his disappearance a federal case." "It's not jurisdiction I'm questioning, Mulder." At that point, I began to tune them out. I really had to go, and it was taking all of my self control to hold it. I didn't care if I made that Mulder guy mad, but if I went on the leather seats, I knew Mistress Scully would call me a BAD DOG, and there's nothing I hate more than that. It was raining when they finally let me out of the car, and Mistress Scully walked me over to a bench by a shop with a giant dinosaur balloon above it. All the sights and smells of the new place were interesting, so I didn't mind at all when they went inside, and left me tied by my leash to the bench. And I didn't mind when they came back out, and took me to the hotel. I had a nice cushy pillow to sleep on, and the next morning was a real treat. The first thing I got to do was wake up with Mistress Scully bright and early and go for a long walk. Of course, by the time we got to our destination, that Mulder guy was there too, along with a lot of other men, including the Sheriff of the area. Men in power smell like something . . . you can just tell immediately. Which always made me wonder about that Mulder guy, 'cause he only smelled like sunflower seeds. But I digress. As I bounded down the path ahead of Mistress Scully, I wondered why Mulder and the other guys were hunched over a track of a human wearing rubber feet. Oh, you know what I mean. Why, thank you, I'd love to have some of your kibble. You are a very generous fellow. Yes, rubber feet. They left these weird little tracks. I know, humans can be weird like that. Who cares about rubber feet? What was so interesting about that? So I wandered off, sniffing around, and whadaya know . . . I, the loyal pup, was able to help my mistress out where no one else could. As I was wandering, I picked up the scent from the tracks. I tried to alert Mistress Scully, but she just went back to talking to that Mulder guy. For her own good, I jerked on the leash, ripping it out of her hand. "Queequeg, come back here! Queequeg!" I dashed over the logs, through the ferns, and proudly sniffed the boot. When she showed up close on my heels, she seemed grimly satisfied. "Mulder, Sheriff, come take a look at this." As they clambered over the logs, I continued to investigate. "There's your lake monster, Mulder," she said as he moved forward. When I was certain there was no danger, I relaxed, and let the Mulder guy come over to look. Hey, I might not like him, but he's part of Mistress Scully's pack, and I have to live with him. "That's what it looks like," he said. "It's all a hoax," Mistress Scully said as Mulder hunkered down. I wagged my tail with pride, then kept sniffing at the boot. Something was wrong. "Well, I'll be damned." That was the brilliant comment of the Sheriff. He seemed nice enough, but I didn't pay much attention to him. Mulder squatted over the boot for a moment, running his finger along the edge. When it came back with a stain of blood on it, he turned back to Mistress Scully and the Sheriff. "But where's the hoaxer?" ************************* You'd think that the Big Guy in the sky would have given me some neat memories of Mistress Scully before I was taken away, but actually, the day was pretty dull. The first thing Mulder did was convince Mistress Scully that I had to go back to the hotel. I was insanely bored, all by myself. So I chewed on Mulder's new leather shoes for a while, then got to work on his socks. By the time they came home that evening, I had worked my way through two of his shoes, three socks, the handle of his suitcase and his belt. I considered anything on the floor my territory. Anyway, when they got home, Mistress Scully didn't go through her normal Sunday evening routine. Instead of getting a nice warm blanket, ice cream, and curling up on the couch with me to watch Fox's Sunday night line-up, she was talking with Mulder and looking at pictures. She seemed irritated with him, which was nice, for a chance. I'm always glad when Mistress Scully, god bless her heart, sees the error of her ways regarding Mulder. When staring at the pictures had gone on long enough, I barked from the door. I really wanted her to at least play with me outside, for just a little while. I was thrilled when she finally came over to me with the leash and put it on, so I could go outside. I was even more thrilled when that Mulder guy didn't come. It was nice to be standing alone with her in the dark, sniffing at all of the interesting smells while she waited for me. I was disappointed she didn't want to play, but just getting out with her was enough. Then, things started to go wrong. I smelled a BAD SMELL in the woods. It was very light, at first, but it started getting heavier, which meant that whatever was carrying the BAD SMELL was getting closer to me, and to Mistress Scully. "Come on, Queequeg," she said, jiggling the leash. I stared into the woods, then did my best to convey the impending doom that was heading at us. But Mistress Scully wouldn't retreat, and I couldn't let the BAD SMELL get between me and her. Bravely I stayed in front of her, barking mightily to frighten the BAD SMELL off. "Queequeg, we're not going to go into the woods." No kidding, I thought. Sometimes I wonder how humans manage to stay alive without us around to protect them. I kept protecting my Mistress, even as she tugged on my leash. "Come on, do your business, I thought you had to go." The BAD SMELL was getting closer, and I was starting to become terrified. I began to leap off of the ground on all fours, bounding back and forth in front of Mistress Scully, growling and letting the BAD SMELL know that I would protect her at all costs. It didn't seem to care. "Queequeg!" She was starting to sound annoyed, but, just as she said my name, she looked into the woods, either sensing or smelling the BAD SMELL. "What is it?" She asked, using her flashlight to scan the woods, but it didn't show anything in the weak beam. Then, the BAD SMELL got too close. I was terrified that it would get her. I had to act. Any good, brave, loyal dog would have. I ripped free of her hand with almost superdog strength, and dashed into the woods. I would save Mistress Scully from the BAD SMELL. I could only hope that she would be wise enough to stay back and let me fight for her. "Huh? Queequeg, where are you going?" She began to dash after me, but I didn't want to turn my back on the BAD SMELL to explain to her that she had to go back. Humans aren't always that bright, god bless them. "Queequeg? Queeequeg, come back here! Queequeg?!" I dashed deeper into the woods, determined to get the BAD SMELL before it got Mistress Scully. She kept running after me, calling my name, and, just as I rounded the bush, the BAD SMELLING THING attacked. I gave a yip of surprise as the slim, grey fingers slipped over my body, then lifted me to cradle me beneath the almost human arms. I couldn't believe it. I was being dognapped! I struggled furiously, but the BAD SMELLING slim grey thing was very strong. Mistress Scully continued to call out my name, even as my collar was deftly slipped over my head, and as my mouth was clamped shut. Utter terror in my heart, I could only hear her cries as the strange beings carried me away. ************************* I found out later that the grey people had dashed through the woods before Mistress Scully could find me. When we got away from her, they didn't smell bad anymore, just weird, like baby powder mixed with copper. The BAD SMELL had apparently been produced to lure me away from Agent Scully. I wasn't really all that surprised when we walked through the woods for a while before the grey people stopped. There was a bright light over our heads, and suddenly, I was flying up in the air, at the light. This is it, I thought to myself. The big doggie park in the sky. I was sad about leaving Mistress Scully behind, but I was glad that I had earned my doggie wings. I guessed that nobody up there blamed me for the . . . problem I had with my first Mistress. Needless to say, I was not thrilled when I found myself on the metal floor of some sort of craft. There was a soft whir around me, and I could feel the ship begin to move upwards, and as it did, I felt myself become strangely light. I began floating through the air. It was really not a nice sensation, especially when one of the little grey people floated at me. He regarded me with huge, black eyes, and I knew he wasn't human. His smell was off, his head was too big for his body, and there was something wrong with him that I couldn't place. I was terrified. I was just an innocent dog, and already there had been great tragedy in my life. I tried to float away from the grey creature as he floated at me, but he caught me by the leg and dragged me to him, examining my fur, my eyes, my teeth. I wanted to bite him, but I didn't know what he would do, so I just waited silently. He clicked at me a couple of times with a weird sound, and kept pointing to me. I finally figured it out. "Woof," I said. He looked delighted, and as he slowly drifted through the air with me, we started to come back down to the floor. I was relieved, until I ended up on a table very much like the one in the Evil Man's office. As my paws were clamped to the table, I began to wonder at my luck. First, my first Mistress dies and I have to eat her to preserve my life. Then, I meet a wonderful new Mistress, but she has an irritating dude in her life. Then, I get stolen from her, and a bunch of little vets were going to examine me. I was not a happy camper. The first thing they did was lift up my tail. I won't even go into what they did. I was too gross. Just let me warn you. If you ever see those little grey dudes, keep your tail between your legs. Then, they prodded me, and did all sorts of horrible stuff even the Evil Man didn't do. My eyes were held open as they shined painful light in it, my tongue was burned, my fur was pulled, and they put weird sludge up my nose. But that wasn't all. Eventually they laid me on my back, and cut my stomach open. I couldn't feel anything, but I still wasn't happy when they examined all of my insides, then put a little metal piece in me. I still don't know who those little dudes were, but they were not very nice. When they were done, one of them put a bag over my face, and I fell asleep. Things unfortunately continued like this for several days. The grey guys didn't hurt me anymore, but they did pull at my fur, and examine my eyes more. I was beginning to wonder what they could possibly want with me. I was just a dog. A beautiful, brave, noble dog, a dog that was a shining example of the perfection of dogginess to all dogs everywhere, but I was still just a dog. The little vets never seemed to let up. When they weren't poking and prodding me, they were putting me in another floating chamber with a whole bunch of human children. It was the weirdest thing. One little girl named Samantha who floated at me smelled a lot like Mulder, but much nicer. In fact, she was my favorite child in the bunch of twenty or so. I liked to drift around the chamber with her dark hair swirling about me. It was fun. I decided that if I would never see Mistress Scully again, this girl could be my next Mistress. I began to think of her as Mistress Samantha. And then, guess what happened. Right when I was actually starting to get used to floating around with the little grey vets, they pulled me into the examination room for the last time. I had a feeling I was never going to see them again, because they kept stroking my fur and clicking sadly. It was the nicest they had been to me the entire time. Even though I had made friends with Samantha, I couldn't wait to see my Mistress Scully again. I really love her a lot. I looked forward to going to the park with her, to fetching the small ball she had bought me to throw. Sure, it was a stupid game, but it was fun. But most of all, I looked forward to that special time each night when I would sneak out of my doggie bed, and leap on the foot of her bed, and snooze on her feet to keep them warm all night. Of course, every morning she would scold me, and I would hang my head, but I'd do it again the next night. I really loved living with her, and couldn't wait to return. So you can imagine my shock and dismay when the little vets stroked me for the last time, put a slender chain around my neck, lowered me through the blinding light, and into a weird, unknown forest. No! They were supposed to drop me off with Mistress Scully! I had to take care of her! I tried to float back up, but the light gently deposited me on the forest floor, then turned off abruptly as the huge, disc-like thing floated upwards. I barked and danced around, but they didn't come back. Oh, how I miss my Mistress Scully. Let me tell you - that Lassie-come-home stuff is bullshit. Most dogs would sooner kill their masters and go joyriding in their car than journey across the country to find them. And another thing - all of this misinformation about dogs being able to sense their way home is just that, misinformation. When those little vets dropped me off, I had no idea how I'd find Mistress Scully. I was very unhappy. I wandered around for a long time, and my long, beautiful fur became matted and ugly. I had to learn how to hunt rabbits that were almost as big as I was. A wolf pack generously offered to let me run with them, but I politely declined. I had no idea where I was going, but I started going there anyway. I knew if I wandered long enough, Mistress Scully would find me. All that happened two years ago, and I still haven't seen my Mistress Scully. A sad story, isn't it? I know, I know. Too bad for me, but it could never happen to you? Don't be too sure about that, buddy. At any time those mean little vets could come and take you away from your family. You'd think that with all their powers they could have found Mistress Scully for me again, but no. It was like there was some god up there who was controlling my fate, who wanted me dead. It was like the whole episode was dreamed up expressly for getting me out of the picture. Don't think it's not possible. Maybe we're all being controlled by cruel gods who have nothing better to do than make our lives miserable. But I'm getting depressing, aren't I? Thank you very much for letting me stay on your bed for the night, and for sharing your bone. It was very decent of you. I wish you the best. Oh, isn't that sweet. Thank you, very much. I hope I find her too. I know someday I will. My road back may be long, twisted, and hard, but I'll find her, someday. I have to. She's my Mistress Scully. The End Title: Refuse To Dance (1/1) Author: CC Decker email: danabryant@earthlink.net (please, please, please, I don't get any money for doing this, just your feedback! Please!) Category: S Rating: PG-13, I guess . . . a few naughty words, nothing much else. Summary: I promise you, this is a story like you haven't read before . . . called "gripping" "enchanting" and "really good" by different readers who really liked it! If you like angels and theology, you'll love this. Timespan: No spoilers, but some jokes after "The Field Where I Died" Keywords: Angels, Los Angeles, character history, reincarnation Disclaimer: No matter how much I love Mulder and Scully, they aren't mine. They belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. I'm not making a cent of your characters, so you don't have to sue me. I promise. "Refuse To Dance" is also not mine. It belongs to Celine Dion, and I highly recommend you go get the CD it came on, 'Colour of My Love'. Everything else, such as the plot, is mine, though. Refuse To Dance Got your invitation to the dance Wear your party dress Maybe I was just an innocent But I confess I never even knew the song The orchestra was playing You said your such a pretty thing You could make a mark I'll teach you all the steps you'll need Guide you through the dark Suddenly I thought I knew the song The orchestra was playing Look back in sorrow I won't be there Refuse to dance Refuse to Dance, Celine Dion Danya knelt in the rose garden, clasping her hands together. The perfect peace of the flowers should have put anybody at ease, but the storm of confusion within her did not allow her to see it. For a long time she did nothing, thought nothing. Then, she lifted her face to the sky. "Please help Adriel to understand the nature of Your love. Please help him to stop doubting You. Please give me the strength to help him." The warm sun caressed her auburn hair, and a light breeze wafted through the flowers, cooling the feathers of her wings. She could feel the Father's presence about her, and she was somewhat comforted. She heard the soft tread of sandals against the grass behind her, and she quickly rose to her feet. "You were praying," Adriel said, his voice soft. Danya did not turn. "I was." "For what, may I ask?" There was a slight sneer in his voice, but it was disguised almost perfectly. Danya knew that to anybody else it would have sounded like a genuine question. However, Adriel had been her lover for longer than either of them could remember, and she knew him well. She turned slowly. Adriel's blond waves were pulled back at the base of his neck, and the white robe he wore showed the strong muscles and youthful body in its immortal perfection. His eyes gleamed pure azure, and his features were so perfect no mortal could hope to capture his face on canvas. She fell deeper in love with him every time she saw him. He saw the expression of pain on her face and drew her into his arms. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Danya," he whispered into her ear. "But I can't help the thoughts that come to me. And I don't want you praying for me." "I'm worried about you." "I know. But I have discovered something that is far too important to ignore. Danya, I may have found the true nature of existence." "Adriel!" She pulled away, dropping her arms. For a long time Adriel stood watching her, saying nothing. Then, he took her hand and kissed it. "I love you, Danya. You look so beautiful today." He touched the auburn curls that cascaded to her waist, then gently pulled her close again, rubbing the spot right between the base of her wings. She melted into the soothing sensation, but it didn't calm her at all. "Come," he continued. "I want to speak to you away from prying ears." Danya glanced at him again, suspicious. "There is no place away from God," she said. "You know that, Adriel." But Adriel said nothing, merely wrapped his arm around her waist and stepped into the third dimension with her, the dimension of mortals. She found herself standing on a beach, looking out over a blue ocean. A rugged cliff rose behind them, and mortal sea birds swooped over the water, trying to sustain themselves on a diet of fish. The salty sea air carried with it the stench of mortality. "This world is imperfect," Adriel said slowly, gesturing about. "Adriel, what does this have to do . . ." "Hush, my love, hush. Let me explain. We were created and taught the knowledge that everything within God was perfect, and that everything was within God." "I am pleased you remember that much," she said, narrowing her eyes. For a long moment Adriel just stared at her, shocked at her sarcasm. Then he decided the best course of action would be to ignore it. "Therefore, everything must be perfect, must it not?" Danya nodded. "But it is not. Just look around you. Look at the creatures that are so much lower than us. Look at how they struggle to cling to a thing that exists in only this dimension. Life. How could life exist in God?" "You have no right to ask such questions." Adriel's fingers suddenly clenched on her arms, and he pulled her face close to his. "But you see, that brings me to my most important point. Even discounting the existence of this dimension, I can prove that God is not all He would have us believe." "Adriel, don't," she said, struggling to get away from him. "Please, stop. I'm begging you." "Poor Danya," he whispered, taking her chin in his hand. He forced her eyes to meet his. "Your eyes are the color of the sky where we exist, and just as blank. How can you take what you have been told at such face value, without proof?" "I know it to be true. I have faith." "Foolishness. Listen carefully, Danya. Even if this world was imperfect for a reason, let us hypothetically suppose it is because God created it to be, than I ask you the paramount question. How could I, from a dimension close God, even have doubt as to His power? How could I, if He is everything? Where would be the room for such a thought? Even more, how could it possibly exist? Do you see, Danya, I have discovered that God is not all. I have done it with the simple act of even questioning His existence." Danya stared into his eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Then, she slowly pulled away from him, walked over to a large rock on the beach and sat down on it. Adriel was silent behind her as tears began to slip down her cheeks. "Danya, God is not all," he said after a long while. "I know it. I am certain. I care for you more than I care for the notion of a creator that lied to us. I cannot return to our previous existence. I cannot go on with the other angels, listening to their hymns, and their misguided prayers towards a power that does not exist how they believe it does. I am leaving the Father. I will ascend higher than what he would have us remain. Come with me, Danya. Experience power and love beyond that which has been given to you. Come with me, Danya. Leave God." ************************* "No!" Special Agent Dana Scully shot awake from a deep sleep, a light film of perspiration covering her body. For a long moment she sat in bed, trying to recall what had shot her out of her sleep, but the whisperings of the dream eluded her. She glanced around the room, momentarily starting with surprise when she realized it was not her own bedroom. Then she relaxed, remembering she was staying in a Los Angeles hotel. She and Mulder were there on a case, and had been for the last four days. Dana sat up and tossed off the sheets, wandering across the carpet to the balcony. She slipped open the sliding glass door and padded into the unusually cool California night. Seven stories below, the streets were almost as busy at three in the morning as they had been at three in the afternoon. That was Los Angeles for you. She stood for many moments, trying to let the dream come back to her, but it stubbornly refused to. All she knew was that she had woken up like this every night she had been in Los Angeles. She had no urge to return to bed, partly because she didn't want to return to her dream, but mostly because she was no longer sleepy. It was morning in Washington D.C. and she would have been awake and up by now. Also, she was starving. She and Mulder had worked all day and into the later part of the evening on a hostage situation involving a suspect who thought he was being possessed. Though they had managed to get the obviously insane man (Mulder, of course, thought he was actually possessed) out of the bank and retrieve his hostages without incident, he claimed he still had victims from previous abductions stashed away somewhere. After five hours of questioning, he still wasn't faltering, and she and Mulder had been up well over thirty-six hours. Sleep was essential for them to keep clear minds, but food wasn't even an option. She had crawled into bed too exhausted to be hungry. Now she was starving. Dana went back into her room and turned on the light. She searched through her business clothes, not wanting to wear a full suit downstairs for an early morning snack. She finally discovered her black spandex jogging pants and an oversized University of Maryland sweatshirt. She glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, just as she was stepping out with her wallet in hand. Disgusted, she made a face at herself, then briefly brushed her hair, pulled it into a ponytail, and washed her face. Dana glanced at her makeup on the counter, then decided that, at three in the morning, nobody would care what she looked like, especially not in the twenty-four hours- a-day Denny's downstairs. The hallway was deathly silent when she stepped into it. She tiptoed past Mulder's door, tempted to knock on it so she would have company, but she resisted the urge. He had always needed more sleep than she did. The elevator was empty, as was the lobby, save for a single, bored-looking teenager behind the counter. She resisted the urge to chuckle when she noticed him leaning over the counter to give her a once-over. "Kind of early to be jogging, isn't it?" He asked. "No, I'm going to get a little snack." She turned left at the desk and pushed through the glass door that connected the hotel lobby to the Denny's next door to it. There were about twelve customers in the restaurant. Five were high school or college age kids, two girls and three boys, sitting in a large booth eating appetizers and laughing loudly. There was a normal looking couple sitting at a booth near the front door, an apparently homeless man sitting by himself in a booth near the side door she had come in, two black men dressed in drag right down to the high heel shoes, and two scantily clad women, obviously prostitutes, sitting at the counter. Dana stood at the front desk, waiting to be seated. Eventually a fortyish woman with a tall beehive hairdo seated her at a booth next to the teenagers, then disappeared again. Only in Los Angeles, Dana thought to herself as she happened to glance the prostitutes in a full, embracing kiss. This is like Jabba's Hut in Star Wars. Dana glanced over the menu, then decided breakfast would probably be her safest bet. A young blond waitress with enough black eye makeup on to draw a charcoal portrait took her order of pancakes and coffee. Dana found herself completely alone, with nothing to do but watch what was going on outside her window and eavesdrop on the teenagers behind her. " . . .so my mother said, if I don't stop dating him, she was going to ship me off to North Dakota to live with my crazy old aunt," complained one of the girls. "What did you do?" Asked one of the guys. "I had sex with him. Then we decided to see each other on the side. I told my mother I had broken up with him, but I don't think she believes me. She went to church four times this week, and every time I see her, I could swear she's praying at me." "You really had sex with him?" Asked the other girl. "I shit you not. It was great. You know what they say, once you go black you never go back." "I can't believe your mother wanted you to break up with him just because he's black. The kid's the richest bastard in school. And nice, too." "I know. I really care about him. But my mother's just a racist . . ." "Here you go, ma'am," said the waitress, starling Dana out of her intense concentration. Dana smiled her thanks as she poured syrup over her pancakes and mixed her coffee. The kids had now moved onto an entirely different discussion, apparently a movie they had all seen that evening. Just as she was about to start listening closely again, the front door suddenly blew open. It was an entrance only one in Hollywood could make. The night had been calm, cool, and completely without any kind of weather, but as the glass doors shot inward, blowing a wave of freezing air over the diners within, a tall man, perhaps sixty-five, strolled in, his Armani suit whipping around his body. The entire restaurant went silent, even the teenagers. Dana stared at the man astonishment. He looked almost exactly like Sean Connery, with a salt and pepper beard, silver hair, and aristocratic features. His blue eyes pierced the room, entirely alert, then settled on her. He wasn't Sean Connery. His features were slightly different, even more finely chiseled than the actor's, and his eyes were bluer. For a what seemed like an eternity he stared into her eyes, and even though she knew she was being rude, she couldn't pull her's away. He barely glanced at the hostess who stepped forward to seat him, but walked purposefully across the room at her. Dana immediately recognized the walk . . . the only problem was, she couldn't remember from where. "Danya," he said, bending over her table to take her limp hand in his. He kissed it briefly, then looked into her eyes. "I have found you." Dana stared up at him, then delicately retrieved her hand. He had pronounced her first name with its customary long 'a', but had added a 'y' to the end of it. She didn't know quite what to do. "I'm sorry, have we met before?" She asked, feeling a rush of blood flood her cheeks. The more she looked into his eyes, the more she seemed to believe she had seen him somewhere before. She felt a wave of shame at not being able to recognize him. And uncertainty captured her as it never had before. "You do not . . ." he began, trailing off. He had a beautiful Oxford English accent, and his voice could have sold luxury cars. The rest of the restaurant was still silent. Then he glanced at the booth seat across from her. "May I sit down?" There was a small cheer of encouragement from the teenagers, and numbly she nodded. The gentleman seated himself gracefully across from her, and, after another moment of silence, the restaurant began to buzz again. The gentleman surveyed her pancakes and coffee, then looked into her face again. "You do not recognize me," he said. There was a touch of sadness in the statement, and the grand, sweeping dramatic air he carried himself in suddenly vanished. Dana shook her head in embarrassment. "I'm afraid I don't. Do you remember where we have met before?" "A long time ago," said the gentleman enigmatically. He took her hand again and kissed it. "I am Adriel Laurent Gersham." "Dana Scully," she whispered. His eyes widened in surprise. "Forgive me, I pronounced your Christian name wrong. Tell me, Dana, what are you doing here?" Dana glanced at her pancakes, which were now soggy with the absorbed syrup. They looked absolutely disgusting, as did her lukewarm coffee. The bacon looked as if it had been killed only seconds ago. "Well, I was going to eat," she said, pulling her fingers away again. "But this doesn't look appetizing anymore." "No, I meant in Los Angeles. You don't live here, do you?" There was a faintly hopeful tone in his voice. "No, I don't. I live in Washington. Adriel. That sounds familiar, but I don't recall from where . . . " "I knew you when you were very young." "Oh, that might explain it. Did you know my father? He had a constant parade of fellow officers buzzing in and out. It was difficult to keep them straight." "No, I did not know your father." Dana stared into the gentleman's face, now deeply bothered by her lack of understanding. He wasn't one of her father's Navy buddies, besides, he was British and that wouldn't make sense. He wasn't from work, and she couldn't recall ever seeing this man before. But she knew him, absolutely knew him. He stared back at her frankly, and for the briefest of seconds she thought she saw something familiar gleam in his eyes, but it faded before she could even confirm that it happened. "You must let me take you to dinner," he said after their long silence. "Are you in town long?" Dana leaned back, now slightly suspicious. She knew this gentleman, of that she was certain, and deep within her she knew he would not harm her for anything. But on the surface it was foolish to trust anybody, and she had been wrong about similar things before. "I don't know," she said reluctantly. "I have business obligations." Adriel seemed to study her, then leaned over the table. "Let me guess . . . I may be wrong, since I have not seen you for so long, but I bet you chose a career where you help people . . . protect people. You are a law enforcement officer, no?" Dana stared at him in astonishment, then remembered that he could have easily discovered this if he had seen her before. It wasn't very difficult to get information on anybody, much less FBI agents. "I'm an FBI agent," she said. "I'm here on a case. I'm afraid I really couldn't . . ." "Just one evening. Surely they do not work you constantly, without rest. Just a dinner, Dana, so that we can talk about old times." He smiled tenderly at her, and his eyes filled with kindness. Dana felt a warmth in her chest, and before she could freeze it, she found her lips responding. "Well, if I can get the time, I suppose." She knew it was crazy, to consent to go to dinner with a man that had blown in the door of a Denny's at three in the morning, of all places, and instantly recognized her, but she couldn't resist. There was something about the way he studied her, the way he spoke, the light in his clear azure eyes, that she could not deny. Even her carefully trained thoughts of single, white, male serial killers with a fascination for law enforcement officers could not dissuade her. For one of the rare moments in her life, Dana Katherine Scully acted entirely on emotional impulse as she handed him her cellular phone number. "I will call you later then," he said, rising. "You must excuse me." And without further explanation, he rose from the table, briefly touched the top of her head with his fingers, turned, and strode out the door. There was a long silence, then a burst of applause from the teenagers, who had apparently been listening to the whole conversation. Dana rose, no longer hungry, and tossed some money on the table. The teenagers continued to cheer her on as she strolled past them and back into the hotel lobby. This time she paid no heed to the teenage kid behind the counter as she went back up to her room, suddenly exhausted again. Mulder's room was of course silent as she passed it, and for another time she was tempted to knock on his door and tell him of her strange incident. But she forced herself into her room and staggered into bed, not even bothering to change her clothing. ******************************* Special Agent Fox Mulder woke up in his Los Angeles hotel room refreshed and ready to attack the day. After showering and dressing he strolled out of his hotel room and paused by his partner's door, then knocked on it. He was absolutely starving, and he wanted to go get breakfast now. But despite his loud knocking, there was no reply. Irritated, he danced from foot to foot outside, then knocked on her door again. "Good morning, Mulder," he heard from behind as she walked up. She was dressed in exercise clothing; black stretch pants, a sweatshirt, and running shoes. "Up a little early, aren't you?" He glanced at his watch. It was only seven am, so she must have been up by at least six. Scully shook her head, her short ponytail swinging. "I never really went to sleep. I kept waking up. At five- thirty I gave up and went out." Mulder yawned, still not quite awake enough to pursue this odd response. "I hope you didn't eat breakfast," he said, glancing down at the blush in her cheeks. Either it was cold outside, or she had been working herself hard. She sent him an indecipherable look, then shook her head. "No. . .I haven't. Why don't we go to . . . uh . . ." "Denny's," he provided. "There's a Denny's right next to the hotel. I think it even connects to the lobby." "Denny's?" Her nose crinkled in disgust. "Come on, Mulder, let's treat ourselves to something nice. It's not often we get to work in the City of Angels." Mulder squinted at her, perplexed. "Scully, breakfast is breakfast. Hard to mess up. Since when do you care about where we eat breakfast?" "Since . . ." but she trailed off. He thought he saw a slightly distressed expression on her face, but it disappeared before he could even consciously recognize it. "Fine," she murmured, "Denny's it is." Mulder yawned again and patted his pants to make sure he had his wallet. Then he and Scully, who looked distracted, went downstairs. "Hey, are you alright?" He asked her as they stood side by side on the elevator. "You seem upset about something." "I'm fine." Mulder paused, wondering if he should pressure her, but held his tongue, figuring she would tell him when she felt it necessary. The lobby was freezing when they drifted into it, a direct result of the unusually cold weather. Scully suddenly quickened her pace as she passed the lobby desk. A pimply teenage kid glanced up, did a double take, then smiled. "Hey, don't you ever sleep?" He asked, giving her an admiring once-over. Mulder was caught between the emotions of amusement and irritation, but made the conscious effort to be amused. "Sure I do," Scully said, granting the kid a warm smile. She strode past him quickly and to the Denny's door. "I wouldn't eat at Denny's twice in one night, if I were you," the kid suddenly mysteriously advised her. "Too much Denny's food is poison, if you don't have a resistance to it." Mulder watched as his partner forced a chuckle, then met his eyes nervously. "Poison," she echoed. The murderous, barely disguised expression directed at the kid almost frightened him. Something was wrong. Or not wrong, exactly, but off. Curious and a little bit concerned, Mulder followed her into the restaurant. "I thought you said you hadn't eaten breakfast," he questioned as they waited to be seated. "I didn't. But I did come downstairs very late last night for a snack." "So you're not hungry." "I am. I didn't get a chance to eat anything." And, before she could explain this mystifying statement, the hostess had seated them. A group of teenagers was sitting at the booth next to them, about twenty coffee cups on the table for the five kids. He could tell they were completely wired from the caffine, and he grinned to himself. He remembered being like that. When they saw Scully they suddenly cheered. "Hey, it's that FBI chick again!" "And she's with a different guy. Ooo, this is better than TV!" He arched his eyebrow at her, but she ignored him. "You again," said a young blond waitress to Scully as she approached the table to take their orders. "And this time you're with a different guy." Scully went from light pink to fushia, a fascinating process Mulder had never seen before. "Different guy?" He asked quickly. "It's not. . ." "You should have seen him," the waitress said, the black eye makeup a startling contrast against her wide-open eyes. "He looked like that old guy. . .Sean Connery? But better. Wow. He just walked in here, and sat down with her." She pointed at Scully, looking impressed. "They talked, she gave him her number, he left. Oh, shit. You guys aren't married, are you?" "No-o," Mulder said slowly, focusing a hard stare on his partner. "Okay, great. What can I get for you?" "Coffee and toast, please," Scully said, avoiding his eyes. Mulder glanced at the menu and picked the first item he saw, French toast. The waitress paused over the table for a bit longer, perhaps curious to hear their conversation, then reluctantly went to get their drinks. "So," he said, unwrapping his napkin. "It's no big deal." "If you don't want to talk about it," he said, "we don't have too. But right now I'm using my imagination to supply the plot to the extraordinary story I just heard, and that's not something you want me to do." He watched as she blushed again, then began to play with her silverware. This really was fascinating. "The guy was an old friend of my father's. He just happened to recognize me. I'm going to have dinner with him, that's all." "Dinner?" Mulder arched an eyebrow, and, before he could help himself; "a date?" "No, of course not. Just a courtesy to an old friend. If this kidnaping thing breaks." "Then why did you seem so . . . secretive?" "I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea and tease me." That was a blatant lie. Over four years of working with this woman had taught him a lot about her, and lying for personal reasons was not something she did well. Scully could tell a psychotic serial killer to his face that she identified with him, and even believed in what he did, but one lie about herself, or a date, and she fell apart. Mulder began to take the situation very seriously. Something here was very, very wrong. Before he could help it, he saw an elderly, well manicured gentleman dressed in black strolling through the door to hand his best friend and partner orders . . . or worse. A sickening worm of suspicion began to gnaw at the inner lining of his stomach. "Scully," he said carefully, trying to keep his voice even. "You know I trust you, right?" An expression of guilt immediately carved itself into her features, only to be smoothed over by feigned innocence when it was too late. Mulder felt a stabbing pain of terror within, and it was all he could do to keep from revealing it on his face. "Of course," she said. "Well, sometimes. Did you sleep well?" Changing the subject, out late at night, out early in the morning, and an unidentified man she seemed reluctant to speak about. "Scully." He halted her nervous fiddling by laying his hands over her's, and squeezing so hard she was forced to look into his eyes. "Dana. So help me God, you had better answer my next question truthfully. If you don't, something really, really terrible is going to happen." Scully's eyes opened in fright, and she immediately tried to withdraw her hands. Mulder kept them bound in his own. "What?" "You're not working for them, are you?" "Who?" Scully seemed completely mystified. "The same people who pay Krycek." Mulder watched as her eyes opened very, very wide. Then, the flame blue of her eyes began to smolder with fury, and she wrenched her hands away. "How could that thought even cross your mind?" She hissed, every word deliberate and absolutely honest. "How could you even suggest that I work for the same people that abducted me and murdered my sister?!" "Scully, I'm sorry," he said, realizing that this was not in any way an act, but honest, very real pain. He tried to snatch her hand again, but she had already slid out of the booth and turned away from him. "I'll see you in the car at eight," she said, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "I'm not hungry, and I need to get ready for work." "Dana, I'm sorry." But she ignored him and stormed out of the restaurant without another word. The waitress, who had been watching the entire thing, hesitantly put his French toast down on the table. "Ooo," the teenagers chorused together. Then they went quiet when he turned to glare at them. "I haven't . . . you guys haven't broken up or something, have you?" Mulder glanced up at the waitress, then shook his head. "No, we're not romantically involved." He paused. "You know what, I'll leave you a tip as big as the bill if you will try to remember and tell me specifically what happened last night." The waitress gave him an odd look, contemplated whether or not telling him would betray Scully, then sat down across from him in the booth. "Well, it was about three in the morning . . ." **************************** Of course it was only logical that Mulder reach the conclusion he did. After all, it had looked very much like she had been hiding something. And it wasn't as if she hadn't ever done the same thing to him. Granted, there had been reasons for her hallucinations . . . a government project, but she had still almost shot Mulder. She was being a hypocrite. But it still hurt. A lot. Dana walked out to her balcony, stepping out again into the air. The scenery below her was beautiful, a testament to the strength of man. She hastily brushed as some tears that were slipping down her cheeks, ashamed that she was letting his suspicion get to her like this. Even still, it was hard to imagine that after everything she had done for Mulder. . . But yet again, that wasn't fair at all. If it had been her hearing that story, she just might have jumped to the same conclusions. Dana went back in, not at all comforted. Maybe a hot shower would help. The steaming water was purifying as she stepped into it, and for the first time since the plane had touched down in Los Angeles, she felt relaxed. So, Mulder had jumped to a natural, though hurtful, conclusion. So some gentleman she had never met before had 'found' her in a Denny's. She also had barely had any sleep, and she was stressed. Things would go back to normal relatively soon, she thought to herself as she stepped from the shower and got dressed. As soon as she stopped feeling as if her self confidence was something she had forgotten to pack. She was just blow drying her hair when there was a knock at her door. For a moment she froze, nervous about confronting Mulder, but she forced herself to the door. "Hey," he said, wringing his hands, avoiding her eyes. "Look, I'm really sorry about what I said downstairs." "Don't worry about it," she said quickly. "It did look suspicious. Besides, I've done the same thing to you. Come in." Mulder strolled through the door, and noticed the open balcony. "Not contemplating a jump, are you?" "I wasn't that hurt." Mulder chuckled, then shut the door. "I have good news," he finally said. "Let's hear it." "Jack told Agent Windle where the hostages were. We're done here. But our plane leaves in two days, so we have time to wrap up this case at our leisure and vacation." Dana narrowed her eyes at her partner. "Did Assistant Director Skinner say that?" "Yes, he did. It would cost more to get the plane tickets to come back early, anyway." "Great," she said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. While the free time would be nice, it also meant facing Adriel. The thought of lying to him about her job didn't even occur to her. "Are you alright? I thought you would be thrilled with the prospect of touring the stars' homes." "Wow. I can't wait," she said, sending him a smile. "Well, let's really get breakfast." Then, after a long silence; "I'm buying." "You don't have to do that." "I feel obligated. As long as you tell me what was really going on down there tonight." But he was smiling, and she had the feeling that he wouldn't press her if she made that clear. "Fair enough." "Friends?" Mulder suddenly said, pulling her into a much unexpected hug. Scully was in his arms just long enough to appreciate the scent of his Obsession cologne before he pulled away, patting her gently on the back. Scully suddenly wondered why Mulder didn't have a girlfriend, alien chasing or no. "Friends," she said, smiling up at him. ***************************** "The theater was wonderful, Adriel." He turned his eyes away from the Beverly Hills road to Danya . . . no, Dana . . . and yet again his breath caught in his throat. It had been centuries, maybe even longer. And watching her was drinking water in a desert. Even if she was much flawed in her human form, the light shining from within overlapped any imperfections of body. "You are most welcome," he said a moment later, coming back to himself. The tickets for third row center of 'Les Miserables' had been fairly easy to come by, even though the show was sold out. A little mental push, and the young couple sitting in the seats had gotten up and left right away. After he had paid them privately, out of sight from Dana. He wasn't completely without scruples, but using his angelic powers did make certain things very simple sometimes. "You still haven't told me what you do that allows you to drive a Rolls Royce," she said, a mild reproach in her voice. For less than a second he closed his eyes, absorbing the throaty, feminine tones, the playful attitude. "I am privately employed," he said. He sense her arched eyebrow rather than saw it. "Legally," he added. "I am a business consultant, and I own quite a bit of stock." She nodded, satisfied with the answer. Adriel returned his attention inward. Tonight had been divine, but he knew Dana wasn't ready yet to be awakened to her true nature. All through dinner and the play he had been carefully sorting through her memories, both subconscious and waking. He might have lost her for a few hundred years, but within a few hours he had gained most of the knowledge that was stored within her soul. He knew her likes, her dislikes, her history, the people she knew, her theology, everything. And so far, it appeared as if she had been waiting for him with the deep part of her soul that never forgot. Also, as he had hoped, this human form had worked perfectly for him. She was very attracted to him, but not threatened. Just as he had planned. He could easily press his advantage, but it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of him to share a bed with her on the first date. Even if there hadn't been many men in her life, tonight was not the night. In a few days, perhaps, he could begin to awaken her to what she truly was. Then, maybe, he could finally be happy. There were a few people, of course, who would stand in her way. Her partner, Mulder for instance, would most certainly not let her go without a fight. Their relationship was an odd one. Not lovers, but so much closer and deeper than friends. There was sexual interest, but it had never been acted upon, most likely for professional reasons. However, Adriel reflected, their recent fight had been fortuitous for him. Mulder had openly shown his mistrust of her, and perhaps, just perhaps, he could strike her while she was down. This would not be like the other times he had come to her mortal body to awaken her soul. This time he would claim her. Her mortal beliefs were slipping from her every second he was in her consciousness, and she was losing the mortal part of her soul. He could only watch the terror and confusion in her eyes. "You were staying tonight in the Los Angeles Marriot," he said, turning to get onto the freeway. He couldn't let himself drift off mentally when she was with him. Who knew what kind of thought could leak out. "Yes, I am. I want to thank you again, Adriel. Tonight was really wonderful." "Perhaps you will allow me to give you a tour of the city tomorrow," he said, smiling with pleasure. "I already promised my partner I would help him with the paper work on the case tomorrow, but maybe in the evening. . ." "Tomorrow evening it is. I will have you call me when you are finished with your work." "Are you sure that's not going to interfere with your schedule?" "No, not at all." Adriel couldn't but help study Dana's slim knee out of the corner of his eye. Ah, yes, that was something he remembered well. Her body was something he had hungered after for so long, but he could wait a little bit longer. Her faith in God was much less now, and it would not be difficult to persuade her to leave. Her soul was lonely, and real companionship meant more in this time than the theories of God. Adriel turned off the freeway at her exit, and just enjoyed the comfortable silence. Today had been lovely. She had called him about four o' clock, after doing some work, and he had spent the rest of his day with her. The simple joy of being in her presence almost erased the pain of all the time they had been apart. "Thank you again, but you don't have to come up," she said as he pulled into parking lot. "It's quite a long haul up to the sixth story." "Very well then," he said, immediately picking up on her hint. "Until tomorrow." He leapt from the car and went to open her door, offering a hand to help her from the car. The warmth of her skin against his was tempting, but he forced himself to resist her. "Goodnight," she said, pausing as he shut the door. Adriel smiled, and put his hands on her face, tilting her head up so he could touch her lips with his own. She actively stepped into him, kissing him back, and he almost lost his human form with the pleasure of feeling her against him. It was he who pulled back first. "I've missed you," he said, reaching to touch the top of her head. This time she didn't even question him. She didn't need to. He carefully pulled the memories of so long ago into her consciousness, to be released tonight in her dreams. It was as he had done last night in the Denny's. As he had done simply by being near her. "Goodnight," she said again, pulling away. "I'll call you tomorrow." Adriel watched as she turned and strolled slowly up to the lobby. She was everything. ****************************** Mulder stared down from the balcony, almost falling to his death as he leaned over the rails, trying to get a better view of Scully and Adriel. He almost lost his grip when he watched her kiss the gentleman, then go inside. Just an old friend my ass, he thought. I wish my female friends would kiss me like that. It wasn't until a few moments later that he realized Scully was his only female friend. Mulder went back inside and sat on Scully's bed, trying to read the same page of his novel that he had been reading for the last hour and a half. The words kept swimming in his mind as he thought about her. About the danger she might be in. The day had gone well after breakfast. Scully seemed to have forgiven him, and she had explained the unusual circumstances in the Denny's. Mulder was suspicious. Not of Scully, but of Adriel. The moment Scully had left for the day, to visit close friends in the area, he had begun his research. Adriel Laurent Gersham did not exist. He couldn't find the birth certificate of the man anywhere, either in the FBI data banks or otherwise. The only place he found a record of the man was in some stock reports and bank records. The gentleman was very, very wealthy. The thought of Adriel being a government agent didn't work for Mulder. The man had no discernable history in that form. It just didn't make sense. That was why he had tracked down the hotel the gentleman was staying in (Presidential suite at the Beverly Hills Hilton!), and had followed him throughout the day. Scully would be furious, of course, but he was doing it for her. And his discoveries had disturbed him. Adriel wasn't here on a business trip, that much was certain. He hadn't done anything all day but drive around. This wouldn't have disturbed Mulder, but it was Adriel's interaction with people that was wrong. The man had gone to lunch in a small cafe, and Mulder had watched as Adriel had touched the waitress's hand; then the hands of two children who had been playing near his table. Each of the three had looked normal until he touched them. Then, after contact, they had each brightened considerably, the waitress to the point of tears. Who was this guy, who could bring joy with a simple touch? Then, after lunch he had followed the man to the Los Angeles County Art Museum, and again, more strange behavior. The barest smile seemed to make people happier. But the oddest behavior was when Adriel had walked into a room where a collection of Renaissance painting had recently been put on display. Adriel had frozen before a picture of a red-headed angel touching the head of a small child and had stared at it for almost three hours. Mulder had studied every inch of the painting, but he couldn't discern what it was that entranced Adriel so. The man was weird. Something was really wrong. And while Mulder sensed no maliciousness, he still couldn't understand what it was that bothered him. Until he had followed the man to the beach. It was late November, and Adriel had driven to a fairly secluded area that used residential surface roads as an access to get to the beach. Mulder had watched from the high cliff that rose above the beach as Adriel strolled slowly down to the sand. Mulder still wasn't quite sure he had seen what happened next. Adriel had sank slowly to his knees in the sand, extending his arms, turning his face in the direction of the sun. His back was to Mulder at a distance of about two hundred feet, and for a long time, maybe forty-five minutes he had kneeled like that. There was nobody else on the beach, just Adriel. At first Mulder had gotten bored watching him and had begun to watch other things going on around him, primarily a sailboat race out in the ocean. But then, his eyes had been drawn to Adriel. The man's hair no longer gleamed silver, but a brilliant gold. The Armani suit was gone, replaced by white robes, and from his back two full, dove-white wings were stretched over the sand. Mulder had chocked in shock, then stared harder, wondering if the sunlight in his eyes was somehow distorting his vision. But no, the wings and blond hair remained. Mulder had stared at Adriel for perhaps twenty minutes before the man suddenly turned to him, the wings fading into nothing as the hair turned gray. Mulder had felt the eye-to-eye connection even from the distance, and had immediately fled, speeding away at over eighty miles away. Mulder quickly shut the book and sat up on Scully's bed, turning the TV on. It must have been a trick. Angels didn't exist. Especially angels. But, despite the disbelief, Mulder had driven to one of the largest libraries in Los Angeles and began researching every arcane fact about the religious beings. Then he looked up Adriel's name, cross referencing it with Hebrew meanings and the Bible. He was no longer doing it for Scully, but for his own peace of mind. And what he had found had disturbed him, maybe because he had been expecting it. Adriel: Member of God's flock Laurent: Crowned with laurel, honored Gersham: Exiled A member of God's flock, who was honored, then exiled. And, before he could prevent it, he had looked up Scully's name. 'Dana' turned up nothing, it only meant 'bright as day.' Then he remembered Scully telling him that Adriel had pronounced her name 'Danya' when he had first met her. Danya: Servant of God, God is my judge. Katherine: Pure of soul. A servant of God, who was pure of soul. 'Scully' turned up nothing, as it was a surname. But already Mulder was beginning to feel ill. He practically cleared out the religion section in search of any information about angels. Nothing was comforting, especially not when he saw the angel on the beach in an ancient painting of Lucifer and his followers being cast out of Heaven. Especially not when he realized that the angel was falling with Lucifer. He had called Scully's cellular, but she wasn't answering. It might just be a coincidence, but it wasn't likely. He continued researching, and was surprised to find that, contrary to popular belief, the war in Heaven was not between Good and Evil, but between Good and Good. Lucifer, an archangel, had tried to rise to power above God. By declaring five statements he had been thrown from Heaven: "I will ascend into heaven." "I will exalt my throne above the stars of God." "I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation." "I will ascend above the heights of the clouds." "I will be like the most high." According to most Bible scholars, it was Lucifer's desire to covet the power of God that led to his downfall. And the downfall of approximately one third of God's angels. It wasn't hatred, but an honest belief that he was more powerful than the Creator. One of God's flock, honored with the laurel crown, exiled. Mulder didn't understand why it was easier for him to believe in aliens than in angels, but there were too many coincidences her to completely discount. And he had seen Adriel as an angel before he had researched angels. And he couldn't contact Scully anywhere. Her pager was out of the area, and her cellular was sitting on her bed beside him. She had left to go out with Adriel before he had returned from the library. Then again, he didn't know why he should be so worried. Dana was with an angel, wasn't she? ****************************** "Mulder!" "Hey, I wanted to catch you when you got back. It's a good thing we got rooms with a connecting door." "It's almost one in the morning!" Scully stared at her partner, who was munching on a sandwich that had obviously been delivered by room service. "You didn't charge that to my room, did you?" "I'll pay for it." Scully sighed, then picked up half of his sandwich and began munching on it herself, more out of the need for something to do than anything else. Mulder suddenly looked uncomfortable. "How was your day?" He asked, sitting up on her bed. "And your date this evening?" She sighed again, then looked down on him, amused. She wondered what kind of scene would have played itself in this room if she had decided to give into her temptations downstairs and invite Adriel up. "It was nice. Very, very nice. What are you doing in my room?" "I have something important to tell you. Here, sit down." Scully stared for a long few moments at her partner, now suspicious. She reluctantly sat down on the bed with him. For a long moment Mulder fidgeted, then he turned to her. "Scully, we've been friends for quite a while, right?" She rubbed her forehead, then sighed an assent. "And you know I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you, right?" Scully suddenly looked up at him, concerned. His expression was worried, almost pained. "Mulder, what have you done?" "It's not me, it's Adriel. Look, Scully, I did some research and he's not . . ." "YOU WHAT?!" She leapt to her feet, feeling rage engulf her. "Mulder, you had no right! Who I go out with is my business, completely mine alone!" Scully hated the wounded look that Mulder got in his eyes as he looked up at her from the bed. There was a pang of duel emotions, rage that he was interfering with her personal life, and warmth that he cared so much. "I know, I know. But I was worried. Scully, I couldn't find birth certificates, family, a permanent address, nothing. The only thing I found was bank accounts." "Mulder, he's English. Maybe he was born in England." She stood up and walked back over to the balcony, the scent of his cologne wafting about her. Why couldn't she just meet a nice, normal guy? Even more importantly, why couldn't she work with one? "Alright, well, I checked with a friend in Scotland Yard who said they have no records on him, either. Then I checked the international index. Scully, the man was never born." "I'm sure you just overlooked him." Suddenly, she didn't want to hear anymore. Adriel was a perfect gentleman, kind, considerate, attractive, wealthy. And when she was with him, she was intensely happy. Not like she had been with other men, not even Jack. With them she had still felt . . . lonely. With Adriel, she had found perfect harmony. "Scully, something else happened. You're not going to believe this. . ." "Then don't tell me. Mulder, is this some sort of . . ." but she cut herself off and stared down at the road below. She didn't want to know the answer to her question. Suddenly, she intensely wished she had stayed with Adriel tonight, or, at least had stayed with him a little longer. Before she could help herself, she felt a smile tugging at her lips. The prospect of staying with Adriel all night had most certainly appealed to her, but it wouldn't have been. . . er, polite to act on it. "Some sort of what?" She turned, studying his tense stance on the bed. Mulder's insecurities suddenly didn't matter at all to her. Adriel made her happy, and she knew he would never harm her. That was enough. What ever Mulder wanted to know, he could know it. "Do you still think I might be working with this guy? That he's one of them?" Mulder's eyes widened and he leapt to his feet, striding over to her. "No, no I don't! Scully, do you know what Adriel's name means in Hebrew?" "What does that. . ." "'One of God's flock, crowned with the laurel wreath, exiled.'" She stared at him. Then, very slowly; "Mulder, tell me . . . what . . . the hell . . . does that have to do with anything?" "I want you to look at something in this book I rented from the library." He strode back into the room and picked up a huge leather-covered art book. Flipping to a marked page, he pushed a painting of fifteen or so angels fighting and falling from what was presumably the clouds of heaven. She barely glanced at it, then, something riveted her attention. A prominent blond angel was falling beside what was marked as Lucifer, and there was something ghostly familiar about him. Her finger strayed to the page, tracing his gold locks before she could discipline it. She sank slowly into the chair on her deck, unable to pull her eyes away. "You see it," Mulder whispered. She stared up at him, then suddenly slammed the book shut. "Mulder, get to your goddamned point. This doesn't mean anything." "Scully, I saw something today, when I was following Adriel. Now, wait, chew me out later. I watched him with people. Scully, the man is not normal. One touch from his hand seemed to make people so . . . happy. It happened over and over. But that wasn't what was so frightening. Scully, I watched him walk down to an empty beach, fall to his knees in the sand and become the very creature you seemed so entranced by in that book. He grew wings, Scully, his hair turned blond." She couldn't say anything. She was too dumbfounded by Mulder's outrageous, amazing, ridiculous . . . fantasy! In lack of words, she rose from the chair, stalking over to him in silence. Placing her hands against his chest, she gave him a medium-hard shove in the direction of the door. Mulder stumbled back, then regained his footing as she stood, silent, a finger pointing to his door and saying everything she could not. The rational part of her brain was screaming, but she was too enraged to listen to it. "Scully, I wasn't trying to . . ." "I'll talk to you in the morning, Mulder, after I've cooled off. And perhaps you can make up a better, more believable story that this. . .than this. . .get the hell out." Part of her watched as Mulder's eyes fell, as the hurt expression of a rejected puppy filled his face. She suddenly wanted to reach out to him, to apologize, but she couldn't do it. Something stronger held her in check. "I'm so sorry," Mulder said after a long silence. "But I know what I saw. Please don't see him again, Dana. Something is wrong." "You don't believe in God, Mulder. Get out." She watched helplessly as he stared into her eyes, then turned and walked through the connecting door to his room, shutting it quietly. She would have much preferred his slamming the door, but the hurt expression was almost too much to bear. Dana moved away from the window, changed into her men's style silk pajamas, and sank into bed. She stared directly ahead, unable to pull her thoughts together adequately. Everything was so damn confusing. Adriel, Mulder, herself. Grudgingly she could see Mulder's cause for concern. Yes, she had agreed to go to dinner with a strange man. Yes, she had put herself in extreme jeopardy. She knew nothing at all about Adriel except that he was obviously wealthy, and that he was very kind. That she was joyful around him. Not just happy, but filled with joy. And nobody had ever made her feel that way before. Adriel was one of the rare people that came into her life that she felt she had instantly known, that she could relax completely with. Her instincts weren't wrong. Adriel would never hurt her. And Mulder was just being his usual paranoid self. She just didn't want to go far enough yet to love. Not after one evening. Then, against her will, she stood up, retrieved the book, and opened to the picture of the blond angel. She fell asleep staring at him. ************************ "There is much talk about Lucifer and Adriel, Danya." William's hazel eyes opened wide with concern, and he smoothed his robes nervously. The wind tossed his short chocolate hair playfully, and he didn't try to smooth it. The mournful, concerned look in his eyes cut her deeply. She turned from her friend, for the words had cut her deeper than she wanted to admit. "They say that Lucifer doesn't believe God is everything. That Lucifer wants to rule Creation." "What are you concerned about, William? Are you worried I will go with them?" "Never." She felt his hand settle gently on her shoulder, a reassuring warmth caressing her being where words could not. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the love around her, but it was so difficult. All she could feel were Adriel's words, slicing deeper into her with every thought she contemplated. The garden around them was perfect Paradise, but it did nothing to ease her within. "I'm going on a mission to Earth soon," William suddenly said. "Not the typical kind." Danya stepped away from him, to a fountain that poured forth the purest water. She dipped her hand in, but removed it feeling soiled instead of purified. Adriel's words again. She could not escape them, not even in rest. "What kind of mission?" She asked, suddenly remembering her friend's statement. "I am going to become a mortal. I am going to be born to flesh, I will grow old, I will return to God." "William!" She leapt to her feet, turning to him. But there wasn't anger or disgust on his face, just pure joy. "Why? Why would you leave this?" William stepped to her, taking her hands in his own. "Danya, I want to experience the Father's love in the flesh. I want to struggle, to become stronger than I am. And I want to help mortals on Earth in ways that I never could as one of God's messengers. Don't look like that, I beg you. It will be beautiful. There are joys that cannot be experienced here." The perfect harmony of the birds carried on the light breeze, and she shut her eyes to enjoy it. But here was another awful tragedy. "I will miss you intensely." "Look for me when I have been born. I have selected my family. I will be called a few names, but I will always keep William in my name." He pulled her into an embrace. "And I will always remember you." "You will forget when you are born to the flesh," she whispered, breathing him in. She reached over his wings and tugged on his brown locks playfully, wanting desperately a distraction. But he stepped back, tilting her chin up with his fingertips to look seriously into her eyes. "Two souls never forget." He went silent, then smoothed her hair affectionately. "And what of Adriel? William, I am terrified he will never return to God." "He is one of God's flock, a stray sheep. Danya, he will survive, I promise you. And he will rejoin the flock when the bitter cold of his perceptions drives him back." She stared up at him, somewhat comforted by his words. "Thank you, my determined guardian. Perhaps you are correct." They smiled at each other, in perfect companionship, then turned as they sensed the presence of Michael, one of God's closest. "Danya, I must speak with you," he said, his voice's melodies rivaling even that of the bird's. She kissed William's cheek, then followed the archangel silently into a grove of trees. He gestured to a bench, and she sat. He said nothing for a very long time, silently allowing the joy to pour over him. She could feel the love flooding out of his body, and just sitting in its warmth lightened the darkness within. Finally he moved, turning to her. "Your lover Adriel has been consorting with my brother, the archangel Lucifer. We have no choice but to do as they want, to cast them out of this existence." "No!" Her hands had risen to her face, and before she could stop it, there were tears streaming down her cheeks. "God would never turn His back on any of His children. Danya, it is Lucifer, Adriel, and their followers who have turned away. They want to leave. And I must ask you, will you leave with them?" Danya turned to him, naked in the purity of his blue eyes. She loved God with everything in her being, but to exist here without Adriel for the eons it might take him to return was daunting. Michael saw this immediately. "Your love for God is still pure," he said, settling a calming hand on her shoulder. "But your work in this Paradise is done. I do not want Adriel to touch you again, to corrupt you with his words." He pulled her hands away from her face, wiping her tears. "I want you to be pure, free of him until he frees his soul. I want to hide you. Adriel's sin is not evil, but one of covetousness. He wants your love for God for himself." "But that's ridiculous!" "To us, yes, it is very unreasonable. But we must hide you until he comes on his own. He will not listen to us." "Hide me?" "As a mortal. William has already explained to you what he is to do. That by assuming the flesh, he can achieve pure holiness in ways we can never understand. I do not want you here, not when the temptations of power are so strong. Not where he could find you. Not where he could constantly pressure you. He has come to you often, has he not?" Danya nodded. "Many times, Michael. Every time I tell him my love for God is greater than my love for him, as it should be, and every time he fills with wrath. I would never leave God, Michael. Not if Adriel offered to me the highest crown. I can feel God's love now. But you are right. To stay here would be folly. I cannot continue to watch as Adriel creates so much pain for himself, and I helpless. I must help someone." She went silent, considering William's words. "Will you become mortal? You might not see Adriel for centuries. You will not remember this paradise. You will not have your angelic powers. You will be forced to your knees and deep into your heart to feel God in the flesh as you feel him now. You will experience physical pain deeper than any here. You will feel sorrow, hatred, and yes, mortal love. You will meet with William in each of your cycling lifetimes, as it will repeat for you, over and over, but you will not know him. You will fear death. You will fear God. Can you accept this to attain a love of God than cannot be experienced without pain?" Danya looked at that around her, and breathed the love deep into her being. Yes, she wanted to be closer to God. And, if experiencing His powers of life was a way to do it, she would cheerfully torture herself with mortality. And she could help so many . . . help them in ways she could not now. And she would forget Adriel, forget the pain of betrayal burning within her. "Yes," she whispered. "I will go. But I beg you to allow me to say goodbye." ************************* A wordless cry of agony escaped her lips as Dana Scully awoke from the deep slumber. For a long few seconds she sat, staring blankly ahead, images swirling in her mind, ruffling her peace. She tried desperately to recapture the dream, but she could not recall more than the hazy emotions of her own pain. She silently pulled herself from the bed and went again to her open window, as she had last night. To the east she could see the sun rising over the mountains of Los Angeles. "Angels," she whispered, shivering in the bitterly cold air. "City of Angels." For a long times she stayed, staring blindly into the sun, feeling the mystical, beautiful sensation of life. Then, she rose and went into her room, retrieving her laptop computer to begin typing. She did not want to confront Mulder today, but she would not dump all of the paperwork on him, either. She typed for almost four hours, finishing the last of both her and their mutual reports by nine o' clock. Then she showered and dressed for the day, a pair of black linen pants and a creamy silk shirt, leaving the door for Mulder unlocked, the files on her bedside table. She wanted to be alone, blissfully alone. The teenage kid at the front desk looked impressed as strode by. Without even considering Mulder's needs for the day she took their rental car, and began driving aimlessly. It was uncomfortable, to not have any idea of where she was going. She finally decided to go looking at the rich, expensive homes along the coast line, just to marvel that anybody had the money and the nerve to build so close to nature's territory. One extremely high tide . . . It wasn't until she had wandered around for the better part of an hour did she decide to stop. Noticing a beach sign, she pulled up in front of a beautiful, million-dollar home and took the innumerable steps down to the beach. The area looked oddly familiar, as if she had been here once, as a child, and had only dreams to remind her of the seascape. Shaking the eerie sensation off, she removed her shoes and strolled to the water, the sand clean against her bare feet. The surf was freezing as she let it skit against her ankles, not allowing herself to step any deeper into it. The wind whipped harsh grains of sand about her, but even as she could feel her clothing and hair become dusty, even as she blinked the sand-induced tears from her eyes, she did not want to leave. This spot was pure beauty. And not only that, it had a draw that she found almost impossible to resist. While it had no calming influences, she did not feel she could leave. Eventually she noticed a rock on the beach and she sat down on it, settling perfectly as she pulled her feet out of the sand and wrapped her arms around her legs, letting the wind whip her hair against her face. Right now her problems with both Adriel and Mulder didn't matter. All that mattered was her own peace. She still couldn't believe the tremendous accusations Mulder had come up with last night. Adriel, an angel? Or Satan? Just what was Mulder's point last night? She has spent the last several years with him, yet he had never gone off the deep end to such a degree before. Was he threatened by Adriel? She and Mulder had never once even been on so much as a date, so he had no reason to be possessive. Was he afraid she would no longer help him search for 'the truth' if she had a family, a lover? Disturbed by the thought, Dana lifted a handful of sand and let it drain back into the sea of grains around it. The astronomical numbers about her were impressive, yet many never considered them. How many individual grains of sand were in that last handful? Had they ever been touched by human hands? Would they ever be touched again? The chances were not likely, given the eternity of grains about her. Sort of like people. Why had she gone on a date, in a strange city, with a man she had never before met who blew into a Denny's late at night and claimed to know her? What had inspired such idiotic trust in her that she never truly considered the dangers in going out with Adriel? And why was he so incredibly attractive? Really, he wasn't her type. But the more she thought about him, the more she wanted to be with him. A sea bird suddenly cried above her and she abruptly looked up, the sun momentarily blinding her as she watched it soar over her, then dip into the ocean to pull a surface-swimming fish into its claws. "What an amazing coincidence," said a voice behind her. Dana felt the smile touching her lips instinctively, before she could stop it. His voice was so pleasant, so comforting. All she wanted from life was to hear that voice when she woke up in the morning. It was terribly frightening, but she was certain she was in love with Adriel. She turned, her breath catching in her throat as she met the azure, unflinching gaze of the man behind her. "I finished my paperwork this morning," she said. "I'm free to do what I want." "And of all places, you came here," he said softly, stepping across the sand. He was dressed in another perfectly tailored Armani suit, and somehow the sand stinging her avoided him. "You remember." She began to part her lips to ask him to explain himself, but somehow she just could not force the question to verbalize itself. Adriel stepped into the sand, miraculously keeping his Italian designer shoes from slipping into the sand. He touched her shoulder, then placed a hand gently on the top of her head, as he had done so many times before. It was soothing to her, and for a long time they stood together, staring into the ocean. He finally moved away, sitting down on the rock beside her, taking her hand. He kissed it, then looked into her eyes. "Where is your partner?" She smiled, feeling a tremendous weight lift off her shoulders. Adriel was the calm after the storm, pulling from her all of her anxiety. "We had a fight," she said, smiling ruefully. "It was very trivial." "Over me," Adriel said, making a statement, not asking a question. "He does not trust me." "Mulder is paranoid." She looked back into the ocean, then, she leaned her head against his shoulder, the temptation of his scent too much to resist. His arm came over her, wrapping her closer to him. "You trust me," he said, again making a statement. "Have you wondered why?" She shook her head, silently. It had been so long since she had been in a man's arms like this, or, perhaps she never had. Adriel's embrace was not that of a friend, lover, or a father, but a perfect mixture of the three, something no mortal man had ever given her before. "It is because we have known each other since we were created," he whispered, as if telling a legend to a small child. "But you were stolen from me, and it wasn't until now that I found you again. You remembered me, though. Your soul could not forget." It was exactly how she felt, but it was something she had been terrified to think, much less verbalize. She was a scientist. She wasn't struck down by deja vu. People didn't have mystical bonds to each other. They couldn't. If they could, it would destroy everything she knew. There couldn't be love at first sight. "I've been foolish," she said, pressing even closer to him. "I've only known you for a couple of days, but it's like you've been in my life forever." "It's not foolish." His hand slipped beneath her chin and lifted it, and she could see the tangible love in his eyes. Verbal declaration meant nothing. That was where love truly resided. "I love you too," she whispered. Adriel chuckled, smoothed her hair, and nodded. "Tonight," he said. "Tonight I will remind you of who you are." She didn't question this, but reveled in what it implied. In his arms she was protected from everything, even her own doubt. If there was such a thing as the perfect soul mate, she had found him. And it didn't matter what Mulder said his sins were. They were meaningless. She wanted to be like this forever. It had seemed like only a few minutes she rested in his arms, but when her pager went off, it was nearly noon. She now felt considerably lightened, and her argument with Mulder slipped into the back of her memory, forgotten. She had tonight in Los Angeles, but then she would have to board a plane and leave Adriel here . . . Or perhaps not. Her career had kept her from even noticing men, much less left much time for thoughts of marriage. Sure, she often toyed with thoughts of Mulder, but being with Adriel made her life up to this point seem unbearably lonely, and she could tell that he felt the same way about her. Maybe she wouldn't step on a plane with Mulder tomorrow morning. "When are you leaving?" Asked Adriel, as if he had suddenly read her thoughts. "Tomorrow," she said quietly, wrapping her fingers in his silk shirt. "I don't want to leave." "I have business all over the world. I can certainly do some business in Washington D.C. for quite some time." There he was, with the perfect reply. Even the anxiety of her leaving had been relieved. "What would you like to do today, my dear?" He asked, taking her hand and puling back to help her from the rock. "Museums? The cinema?" "It doesn't matter," she said honestly. "Very well, then. Perhaps we can drive around until fancy strikes." He touched her cheek with the back of her hand, tenderly staring into her eyes. "I can't tell you the joy you have brought into my life." She had been waiting her entire life to hear someone whisper those words to her. She stepped into him, wrapping her hand behind his neck, pulling his head down to her's so she could kiss his lips. He immediately pulled her into a full embrace, nearly pulling her feet from the sand. His was not the kiss of an older gentleman, and she could feel the muscles in his arms rippling against her back. But it didn't matter. She savored the taste of him, the smell that came from no commercial cologne. She pulled her hands from his soft hair to his silk tie, and, without even pausing for thought, she began to unknot it, pulling greedily at the tiny white buttons of his shirt, the tie becoming wrapped in her fingers. His hands pulled away from her back to the front of her shirt, and she could feel his hands on her shoulder, her stomach, against her skin. They were completely silent, communicating with thoughts alone, in perfect harmony. "Fluffy, get out of the water!" Dana pulled back, dropping her hands as a woman in high heels dashed down the steps to chase a giant mastiff into the water. Adriel looked down on her, then chuckled, subtly buttoning her blouse again. "Tonight, darling," he said quietly, slipping his fingers though her hair, trying to smooth it. With a chuckle she retied his tie, brushing off the sand from her feet. "Museums," she said to herself, chuckling. "Sure, let's go see a few museums." ************************ "Scully? You're not in the shower, are you? Dana?" Mulder hesitantly tried the doorknob, and, finding it unlocked, pushed into her room. The bathroom was silent, and upon brief inspection he discovered that she was most certainly not in it. For a moment he scratched his head, wondering where she could be at noon, but it didn't take him long to spot the pile of papers on her bedside table, along with a note that had been hastily penned. Mulder- I've left for the day to go sightseeing. All of my papers have been completed, as well as your papers. Don't Call Me!!! Unless, of course, it's an emergency. I'm trying to enjoy my last few days in the city. -Scully Mulder stared down at the masses of paperwork she had completed, then viciously kicked her bed. He had been up all night tossing and turning with terrible nightmares, and had ended up sleeping until almost noon. He had dreamt, of all things, that he was an angel as well. This angel thing was really getting to him. He wasn't even sure if he believed in God. "Damn it, Scully," he muttered. He wasn't so concerned that she might be in physical danger, but that Adriel was going to hurt her, really murder her emotionally. He reached for the telephone, then paused. Scully was an adult, fully capable of taking care of herself. Surely he had been delusional with all of this angel bullshit. He had no right to interfere with her life. He really didn't. His cellular suddenly rang and he jerked it out of his pocket, praying it was Scully. "Agent Mulder?" He couldn't place the male voice, but it sounded vaguely familiar. "This is he." "I have a very important message for you from. . .well, we won't state his name, but let's just call him "X", shall we? He died in you apartment." Mulder nearly dropped the phone. "Who is this?" "I can't say right now. I have been waiting for the opportunity for you to come to the West Coast so I could speak with you. Can you meet me in San Clemente?" "Who is this?!" "I can't say right now. Four o' clock, on the pier. Can you meet me?" Mulder stared down at Scully's bed, at the open picture of the angel that lay beside it. What was more important, this call, or vague nervousness about Scully? "Where the hell is San Clemente?" "On the coast, south of where you are. Look on a map. Look very carefully." "But. . ." and before he could say another word, the mysterious caller had hung up on him. For a moment longer he stared at the angel book, then, he shut it, locked Scully's room, and grabbed his coat. This was certainly more important. ************************* Adriel chuckled to himself as he placed his car phone on its cradle. He loved being an angel in a world of ignorant mortals. Pulling Mulder's surface thoughts from his head had been easy, so easy, even over the phone. All he had to do was draw on the agent's paranoia, and the man would be out of his way, driving through atrocious traffic to an obscure little costal town that could easily be missed if one blinked while driving through it. And if Mulder did manage to find the town, he would be sitting at the pier for at least an hour. By that time, Dana would be his again. "Who were you talking to?" Dana asked as she came back from her rental car, leaning half in the window of his Rolls Royce to kiss his cheek. "Just a business associate." Even better, Mulder didn't have a car! "To museums, my dear?" "That would be nice. Maybe I should return the car to Mulder, though." He watched as she frowned, then turned away. Adriel clasped her hand as she went to reach for her keys. "Why? From what you've told me, all he's going to do is get upset with you. Leave him to his own devices. Besides, the early bird gets the worm." Dana smiled; the thought appealed to her. "But if the worm hadn't been up so early, he wouldn't have gotten eaten." Adriel laughed at her cleverness, but was also impressed by the irony. "Come on, now, get in," he told her, opening his door and leading her around the car to open her's. She took one, long look at the rental car, then, with a impish grin, she settled in. Mulder would just have to be carless. ************************ "Goddamn it," Mulder said, staring down into the water below him. He watched, almost hypnotized, as a wave rolled beneath him. Then he looked up, scanning the wooden planks, but nobody who could possibly be a government higher-up was in sight. A few fishermen were leaning casually over the rails, exchanging stories about 'the one that got away', and drinking beer. A few eagle-eyed parents were watching their children run up and down, and there was a rowdy group of teenagers shrieking about twenty feet away from him. He watched, amused, as a large teenage boy swept a petite, scantily-clad brunette into his arms and dangled her over the rail, threatening playfully to drop her. The others all urged him to drop her, but he drew back, settling the girl delicately on the planks. She immediately punched him in the stomach. And though this was all very entertaining, he had been waiting almost fifteen minutes, and whoever was trying to contact him had not shown up. Mulder's eyes strayed again to the carefree group of kids, and, for just a moment, he wished he could exchange places with any of them, just for a while. It wasn't until a tall, red-headed girl with intense blue eyes met his gaze that he realized he was staring. He quickly looked away. "'X'," he muttered to himself. Then, irritated, he pulled his cellular phone out, and dialed his operator. It was a long shot, but maybe he could find out where the last call came from. ************************ "I have loved today," Dana said, smiling quietly to herself. "I wish I didn't have to go back tomorrow." She felt Adriel's arm wrap around her, and she nuzzled into him as they stared out over the blanket of lights that was Los Angeles. The sun was just barely setting, lighting the smog- encrusted air an almost blood red. The spot was absolutely beautiful. As the entire day had been. The day had consisted of a lunch in an expensive Beverly Hills cafe, an afternoon of museum hopping, and a leisurely drive up to the Griffith Park Observatory. The only nasty spot had been an urgent page from Mulder, but, after calling him back on a pay phone, she learned in disgust that he wanted nothing more than to know where she was. She told him, then hung up quickly to prevent a possible stream of pages. Thankfully, he hadn't called her back yet. The day, due to its chill and the brief closing of the observatory for redecorating, left them completely alone as they stared together from the walls. "You don't have to," Adriel suddenly said. "What?" She turned to him, searching into his suddenly insistent sapphire eyes, trying to make grips with what that comment could possibly mean. "I said, Dana, that you don't have to leave." He paused, not breaking eye contact. Then, very slowly; "do you promise not to interrupt me?" "Sure," she whispered. "I have not been entirely honest with you. But this was for your own good. Now, don't panic. I'm not going to tell you I'm actually a serial killer or a criminal. Nothing of that sort. But this is important, vitally important." "Go ahead," she whispered again. "You have been having dreams that are so intense they awaken you. But you barely remember them. You recognized an angel in an artist's rendering of Lucifer's fall from grace. You saw, as I did, the angel in the Renaissance painting on display. And your partner, Mulder, has told you that he believes I am an angel, a dark angel, against God." Dana drew back, terror trickling into her heart. She reached to her hip for the reassuring weight of her gun, but of course she wasn't wearing it, not on a date. How could Adriel possibly know these things? She had certainly never told him. "My love, my love, do not look at me with fear. Do not become irrational. You agreed to see me again in that Denny's because you recognized me. Because we were together since the beginning." Dana drew back even further. Was Adriel some sort of sick spy, who had been watching her this entire time? Why hadn't she listened to Mulder?! She slowly began moving towards the steps, then remembered that it was Adriel who had the keys to the car. There was nowhere for her to run. "I will never harm you," Adriel said, his voice suddenly sad. "It hurts me to see your mistrust, to see the stamp that society has imprinted into your soul. You recognize me, Danya. You even recognize that name." "I don't," she whispered. "I'm tired, Adriel. If it's alight, I'd like to go back to my hotel." Adriel's shoulder's slumped, then lifted again as he stepped close to her, backing her against a wall. She was seconds away from using some sort of self defense tactic on him. "No, I can't take you back, not yet." He reached for her head, and even as she tried to duck he stepped into her body, forcing her to remain still as he rested his fingers against her crown, looking up into the sky. She tried to press away, utterly terrified, but she could not. "Adriel, please," she gasped. "Remember, Danya," he whispered, holding her shoulder so she could not struggle. "Remember everything." For a moment nothing happened, and Adriel released her, stepping back. Dana immediately leapt away, taking a few, terrified steps on her sprint to flee, but she suddenly fell to her knees as if she had slammed into a brick wall. *************************** "Never!" "Adriel, my love, please. I want to do it. Please, you could come with me. Think of the understanding you could receive by being mortal!" "You fool!" Adriel stalked up on her, leaning inches into her face as she sat beside the fountain, staring up at him. For a moment she felt a flicker of fear, but she was reminded almost before she felt it of God's protection. "You FOOL!" He shouted. "Don't you see what they are trying to do?! By telling you to become a mortal, they are forcing you to an even lower position than you are now! Because God is afraid that I will change you, awaken you to the true nature of the universe!" "Adriel, my love, calm. I want to go. There is nothing here for me." "I am here for you!" Adriel stood, stalked a few steps away, then closed in on her again. "You will have none of your powers! You will experience pain beyond imagining! All because you want to 'learn'! Learn! When I am stating fact to your face!" His wings expanded menacingly, then sank again behind his back. "You should at least listen to Lucifer, Danya. He knows what he is speaking, what the truths are. He will ascend above God, because he recognizes God's limitations when even God does not. Danya, come with me now! We might not see each other again for eons!" Danya turned her face away, and before she could catch herself, she felt tears streaming down her cheeks. Saying goodbye to him had been a huge mistake. "Damn it, creature, come now! I command you!" Danya looked up sharply, pressing down her rage at being spoken to in such a manner. Adriel's eyes were wide with fury, his features, though still stunning, distorted. The rage within him had no place in God's gardens, and she pulled away. "You cannot command me," she said. "No one can command me but God." She never even saw the blow coming. But from one millisecond to the next, there was an explosion of physical pain in her cheek, and she was slammed to the dirt beside the stone. She turned and stared in astonishment. Not so much at her own pain, but that Adriel would dare to harm another creature in God's gardens. She watched as regret flickered over his features, then as he gracefully sank to his knees, gathering her in his arms. "I didn't mean to," he whispered. "Forgive me, forgive me." "You are ill," she said softly. "I beg of you, with all that is my soul, that you come with me. We can be together, my love, as William and I will be. I beg you." Adriel turned her face back to him and sighed deeply, tears running down his own cheeks. "I cannot, love. I do not believe. I can not be forced into believing. Perhaps. . . when we have battled our way to power, I will find you and make you see that you could be so much happier if you just accepted." Danya could feel the temptation within. She loved God with everything she was, but Adriel was flesh that could hold her, comfort her, that needed no faith. But he did not fill within her what could be filled only by God. And the torment in his eyes showed what happened to a soul when God was closed from that spot. It was not something she was willing to give up, not ever. Not even for Adriel. "I love you," she whispered, sliding her hand down his cheek. Stinging, purifying tears streamed down her own, and she could feel her very being wrenching into parts within her as she said goodbye. It would be much preferable to become mortal. No pain of the flesh could eclipse this. "I will find you," Adriel gasped, clasping her face in his hands. "It does not matter how long it takes, I will find you and force you to see the truth." "My love," she whispered as she could feel Michael drawing on her soul to pull her away into the mortal would. "The Spirit is the Truth. . ." "Damn you, don't leave me!" She heard him scream as she found herself fading in his arms. "May you never find true love, until you find me!" And she was torn, even though she wanted to stay, from Paradise, and cast into the body of a squally newborn infant, pain erupting every place on her tiny body. However, she cried not for the physical pain, but for what she had left behind. ********************** Dana rose slowly, turning to Adriel. Everything came rushing back to her, her dreams, her memories, her love. Her past lives. In an instant everything slipped into the slots, forming a perfect unity of understanding in her mind. There was no doubt as to her visions. It was real. "You see," Adriel whispered. "You finally understand." Dana stared into his eyes, now seeing the immortality in them. She shook her head for a moment, then looked out over the city. "Danya, come with me now," Adriel said, his voice slipping into a plea. "I beg of you. There is no reason for the pain here. Come with me, touch me, and I will give you your power back. You have been here long enough to realize there is no God." Dana closed her eyes, trying to battle down the overwhelming love that captured her as she realized what he truly was. He was right, of course. How could mortals have done everything that they had to each other for so long, under God's supposedly watchful eye? She saw herself in a war, fighting beside Mulder to protect the ways of her country, doing so much but hardly effecting anything. How could such pain exist under God's creation? "Danya, look at me." She opened her eyes and gasped. Adriel, the real Adriel, was more beautiful than anything her mortal eyes had laid on. His snow-dove white wings expanded out, cascades of long blond curls falling about his face, framing his perfect features. His eyes were as intense as a blue flame, and youth was in every immortal muscle. She felt horribly dark and drab in the light of his eternal beauty. Her body was rotting away every second she existed in it. And she knew the beauty he possessed was within her as well. She could not resist him. She stepped into his outstretched arms, breathing deeply as he wrapped his wings about her, shielding her from the world around. This was peace, pure, perfect, immortal peace. The struggles of her life, battling with her thin faith in a world of science, was answered for her. She would go anywhere with him, even into the fires of hell, if hell existed. She could feel the power coursing through him, and she could feel her own soul answering back. Sins of the past were nothing. All that existed now was the perfect, undying love he felt for her now. "Will you come with me, Danya?" he whispered. "Or perhaps, I should say 'Dana', mine who is 'as bright as the day'." "I will go with you anywhere," she said, rubbing her cheek against the cloud-soft robes. Every aspect of him brought memories of happiness. She would never step again from his arms. "Scully!" She turned, encased safely in Adriel's wings, and she heard him chuckle to himself as Mulder heaved his way up the steps to where they were. He paused in shock as he saw Adriel, and Dana watched as he wavered, not sure wether to fall to his knees, or pull out his gun. He decided on the latter. "Mulder," she said reproachfully. "Put the gun down." Mulder turned his sight from Adriel to her, and he gestured with his head. "If I have to shoot you, Scully, I will. Step away from Adriel." Dana stared incredulously at him, then glanced up at Adriel. Her angel was staring at Mulder, trying to make eye contact. "Step away," Mulder repeated. "Damn it, Dana, move, now." She wasn't sure what kind of shield Adriel's wings would provide her, and she pulled out of them, terrified that Mulder might make good on his threats. She felt Adriel's hand travel along her shoulder, but he did nothing to restrain her. "Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" She asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Mulder kept the gun on her, not even glancing at the angel. "I'm saving you from yourself. Just like you did for me with Krycek. Do you know what Adriel has been doing? He sent me down to a little bullshit town halfway to Mexico to get me out of the way. He can read and manipulate people's thoughts. Don't do anything he tells you to do, Scully. Please." She stared at her partner, who had obviously gone crazy. His hair was plastered against his head, his clothes were soaked in sweat, and there was a gleam of insanity in his eyes. She had to keep him talking until Adriel could do something. "Mulder," she said gently, "I am happy. I have found my soul mate. I've found that I was . . . am, an angel. Can't you be happy for me?" "Happy? Dana, he's a dark angel! He turned his back on God! He is one of Satan's servants!" Mulder's gun began to shake wildly, and she glanced at Adriel for support. But instead of serenity, she saw rage in his flame eyes, and she remembered the day in the garden. A shadow of doubt stole over her. Of course, when she was with Adriel she was happier than she was right now, but she had been even happier once, in another lifetime, when Adriel had loved God too. Now there was an emptiness within him that even she couldn't fill. And she didn't want that emptiness within her, as well. If she went with Adriel now, perhaps he would never experience God's love. She stepped closer to Mulder, almost equidistant from each of them. "Danya," Adriel said gently. "That mortal body of your's is going to have to die anyway. Mulder will not shoot to kill, and, even if he does, it will only accomplish what we would need to do." "Don't listen to him, Scully," Mulder shot back. "He's being slippery. Just because he looks nice doesn't mean he is." Dana stared first in turn at Mulder, who kept his eyes stubbornly on her, then at Adriel, who was still waiting for Mulder to look into his eyes. "Danya," Adriel said, adoration slipping into his voice. "Darling, come with me now. Immortality, power, beauty, eternal real love, that is what I offer you. He offers you nothing but death, weakness, ugliness, and blind empty faith. Come now." "Scully, one of the greatest sins is to covet," Mulder said, now randomly grasping at straws. "He wants you, even at cost to yourself and those around you." Adriel's eyes widened and he turned back to her. "Mortal concerns are nothing for you to worry about, Danya. They are nothing." "Listen to him! You don't need me to convince you, Scully, just stop mooning over his pretty-boy looks and think about what he's saying!" It was like standing at a tennis net for her. . .while the professional players on both sides bombarded her with their ninety mile an hour balls. Mulder was visibly shaken, and Adriel didn't look in the least bit worried. She had no idea how she felt. "Danya, come," Adriel commanded gently, stretching his fingers out to her. She turned to him fully, awed to her knees as he slowly began to rise from the concrete, his wings expanding about him, a glow of heavenly light encasing his body. She heard Mulder gasp behind her. She heard the dull thunk as his gun fell to the ground. "Alright, Adriel," she whispered. She stretched her hand out, sliding forward on her knees, ready to become immortal, to be with her true love forever. The centuries without him had added up. "Don't Scully," Mulder breathed weakly behind her. "Don't do it, Dana." Inches away, her fingers almost connecting with his. She could feel his light beginning to warm her, the love pouring forth on to her battered mortal body. To go anywhere with him would be worth the price. "Thou. . ." Mulder suddenly wheezed. She paid him no heed. "Come love," Adriel smiled down on her. "Come see the truth. Come to receive my power." " . . .shalt have. . ." Mulder continued, chocking with weakness. She froze, suddenly terrified of what he would say. Trembling, she withdrew her fingers. Adriel's eyes lighted up again, this time with rage. "Pay a mortal no heed," he said, brutally smashing the words into her with his angelic powers. " . . .no. . ." "Adriel," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please understand. . ." " . . .other. . ." "Danya," Adriel said, his eyes flashing, "you will not escape me again. I am a power greater than the God you so cherish, and, if I have to take you by force for your own good. . ." " . . .gods. . ." "I can't!" She screamed. "Don't ask me to choose between my God and you!" ". . .before. . ." "Why are you having such a hard time deciding, Danya?! If there is a God, why do you hesitate to follow him at all?! Come with me NOW!!" ". . .me," Mulder gasped, collapsing. "I'm sorry, Adriel," she sobbed, pulling her hand back. Darkness encased her, but, at the same moment, and even stronger love did as well. She could feel her barely there feathers, the rush of mental strength. There was God. The subtle, brilliant power. The darkness within was flooded with a light far brighter than Adriel's. It wasn't free, and that was precisely what made it so valuable, so powerful. She watched as Adriel's eyes fell, as he realized the strength she had to resist him. He faltered. "You will not come with me," he said, stating a fact, not a question. "No," she murmured. "Then may you be cursed forever by the memory of your only true love," he said. The light around him abruptly darkened, and he flew a few feet higher above the concrete. "I hope Mulder there is enough for you." "William," she corrected him softly, "not Fox Mulder, but William. He does not ask for my soul, for me to be unhappy for him." "Oh my God," Mulder suddenly gasped. "William. I'm a fucking. . ." "Be it then," Adriel interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "For I will never be destroyed by God, and you will always be unhappy without me, especially when you remember. I ask you one last time. Will you come to me, so that we may dance joyously forever after this?" "No," she refused. "Never." Adriel's eyes filled with a myriad of emotions so great she could not begin to read them all. She could already feel her own angelic soul within tearing apart, but the subtle love pouring strength over her provided her with more. She watched as Adriel spread his wings, as he raised his hands above in a gesture of power. Lightening shot from his fingertips, but she remained unimpressed by the theatrics, too entranced with the love she felt from her creator. And then, everything went black. ************************* Adriel knelt over Danya's unconscious body, tears streaming down his cheeks unnoticed. Again he had failed to make her understand. She had believed again in God's power first. He had seen it in her face as it rushed to her, and, for a moment, he had been tempted to open his heart to the Father. But he had managed to resist. He would not be dragged down by weakness. Adriel slipped his finger's into her sunset locks, pressing his palms against her crown. He could force her to go with him. She was still a mortal, and with Lucifer's help he could force the mortal her to not see God, to doubt. But she would not be happy. The joy that shown in her face would die, and that joy was what he loved. Nor could he curse her with the memory of him. He tenderly studied her features, then laid a kiss on her lips. He could not give an angel her wings and bind her to a mortal body. He could not let her live knowing she had found her soul mate and had lost him. "Forget," he gasped between clenched teeth. "Forget me, forget your recent memories."He watched as, even in the unconsciousness he had induced in her, as she fought him for the memories, for her power. But he deftly took them and stored them with her soul, providing quick, boring details of her trip to the City of Angels. He kissed her again. "Goodbye, my eternal love." Then he stood, strode over to Mulder, and did the same thing, only a little surprised to realize the man was William the angel after all. Then, he turned away from both of them, strode to the steps, descended them, and went to his car. He would abandon it, go back to Lucifer, and help the archangel plan. Someday he would again get his chance with Danya. As he took the curve of the road he only briefly paused to watch Danya and William stagger to their feet, and look down over the wall. They were both tiny, but Adriel could distinguish the features of each, and his heart longed painfully. Then, without looking back, he slammed his foot on the gas pedal and navigated his Rolls Royce down the twisted, serpentine road. ******************* "Come now, that last life as soldiers in the American South wasn't too bad, Danya." Danya crinkled her nose at William. "You would say that. Think about all the pain we all had to go through." "Perhaps. But at least we helped many, many people. And that is our purpose." Danya chuckled at him. "I suppose you're right. I wonder what our next assignment is going to be." They sat together in the Garden, waiting for Michael's words. After every mortal lifetime they grouped with him to gain a better understanding of their experiences before being 'sent down' again. "It had better be peaceful this time. We deserve at least a brief break. And I want to be female. Being a man was alright, but I didn't really like it. No offense." "None taken." They sat together in silence for a long time, then William laid his hand over her's. "And what of Adriel?" She frowned immediately, and it seemed as if even the clouds above had darkened. "He still does not understand. But I did love seeing him, even if I was a mortal. I feel foolish, though. Adriel could never inhabit the body of a woman well enough to pull it off." "You were a mortal. You're supposed to be foolish." She chuckled, more to escape her own pain than anything else. He sensed it immediately, and wrapped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her against him. They sat like that for a very long time. *************************** The buzz of her alarm clock shot Special Agent Dana Scully from a sound sleep into a siting position, and she was shocked to find tears streaming down her cheeks. She grasped desperately at the remains of her dream, but she could only capture its emotions. For a long moment she sat in bed, staring out through the windows of her Los Angeles hotel room. Then she rose, padded over to the sliding glass door, and stepped out onto the balcony. The sun was rising, casting its brilliance into her eyes. The wind was chilly, but it was more invigorating than cold. Today she would be going home. She had had a nice time and all, but she didn't want to stay. Los Angeles was a great place to visit and get away from the snow of Washington D.C., but there was something about the area that just innately disturbed her. Mulder had said he felt the same way. It was probably just the climate. A sudden flapping near her door caught her attention and she turned, shocked to find an expensive-looking leather bound book on the balcony, from the Los Angeles County Library. She went over, picked it up, and began thumbing through the pages. They were Renaissance paintings, most of them of religious figures. She turned the page to one that was marked, and found herself staring at an eerily familiar-looking painting that was labeled as 'The Fall From Grace.' It was of Lucifer getting thrown from heaven. She stared into the eyes of one angel, a blond, for a very long time. She didn't even look up when Mulder strolled out. "We have a plane to catch," he said, glancing over her shoulder. He too, froze. For a long time they just stared together, then, finally, Mulder took the book from her and closed it. There was an expression of unhappiness on his face, the same unhappiness she had felt in her heart. But she somehow knew instinctively not to ask him about it. "Let's go," he said. "You had better get dressed." She rose, then stared again over the city. The sudden emotion of loss hit her before she could even compute it, and for more than a moment she had the desperate urge to throw herself from the balcony to escape it. She didn't even know what it was that she had lost, but that she had denied it herself. Distantly, from perhaps the room on the other side of her, she thought she heard the strains of a Celine Dion song. "'Look back in sorrow,'" she sang softly to herself. "'I won't be there. . .'" The End Title: The Celine Series: "Seduces Me" (1/1) Author: C.C. Decker Email address for ALL feedback, good and bad! Rating: NC-17 Classification: SRH Timespan/Spoiler: nothing to worry about here! Keywords/ Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: Mulder and Scully actually, finally come to their senses when the X-Files God Chris Carter is off doing Millennium and can't keep an eye on them . . . Disclaimer: No matter how much I love Mulder and Scully, they aren't my characters. The belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. I'm not getting a cent from this, so they shouldn't sue me. Celine Dion's 'Seduces Me' is also not mine, and is also not used with permission. But she shouldn't sue me either, 'cause I'm urging all of you to go out and get her 'Falling Into You' album to listen to while reading! "Seduces Me" Everything you are Everything you'll be Touches the current of love So deep in me Every sigh in the night Every tear that you cry Seduces me Celine Dion, Seduces Me FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C. 11:34 PM Special Agent Fox Mulder sat in his office, staring at a magazine he wasn't supposed to be staring at. But the subjects inside held no intense interest for him. Not even the red-headed centerfold. Well, no, on second thought, that wasn't quite true. . . Mulder put down the magazine with a sigh, and turned to stare a his clock again. His large dark eyes opened wide with surprise when he saw how late it was, and he wondered if he had somehow magically dozed off. No, he was too miserable to sleep. That's why he was still at the office, pretending to accomplish something. "This is ridiculous," he said aloud to himself. Then he looked around. There was nobody around to answer him. "I'm going home now," he continued. "'bye." Hey Mulder, where's you better half?" Asked the door guard teasingly as the agent started to walk out the front door. "Hot date," Mulder said sullenly. "You sound jealous. None of the relationships with the cute space alien babes worked out?" Mulder gave the guard a look that should have sent the man withering into a pool of acidic slime in his shoes, but the guard only grinned back at him. Mulder quickly went out to his car, got in, and stared it. He wondered briefly where he should be going to eat tonight. There was a Chinese restaurant he and Scully went to often at lunch. . .but as he drove by it, the building was dark, a 'closed' sign hanging crookedly on the glass door. He went to a couple of other places, but they were all closed too. The only place that was open was a McDonald's. Mulder ordered the Arch Deluxe, but found that he had to pick half the ingredients off. This did not improve his disposition. He found himself trying to make up excuses to call her. Mulder finally got home, but he was too tired to sleep. He reached for his portable before he could help it. There was no answer to his call, even though he recalled that her telephone was right by her bed. That could mean two things. She either wasn't home yet. . . He didn't even want to think of the other alternative. The thought of some other man's lips on her's. . . of some slimy stranger touching her face, looking into her eyes. . . Mulder would even be content to get into a major fight with her, rather than sit here alone. Scully was without a doubt the best friend he had. And maybe not entirely just a friend. . No. He wouldn't let himself think that. Scully was a woman that he respected, even if she never agreed with him. And, over the three years, she was the only woman he had ever come to love. Oh, shit. He thought it. There was no getting around it now. He was in love with her. ************************ Dana Scully's Apartment 12:46 AM "I had a nice time," she said, pulling her keys from her purse. Her date, Richard Bickham, smiled at her. "I did too," he said, touching her bare shoulder for what must have been the fortieth time that night. She could feel his touch lingering on her skin, like the touch of a reptilian claw. Dana Scully had been on some bad dates in her lifetime, but none like this. "I can call you," he continued. "Sure," she said vaguely. I can also be on a business trip for the next four months, she continued in her mind. They stood for an awkward moment before he moved a step closer. Hastily, she pushed her key and turned it, pushing the door open to duck inside. "Can I come in?" He asked as he strolled through the door. "Richard, it's kind of late." "No, it's not. It's not late at all." He came in and sat himself down on her couch. "So, what did you say you do?" "I'm an FBI agent," she said, not daring to commit to the conversation by sitting down as well. "Wow, have you ever killed anybody?" "Yes, I have, in fact." Slimy guys that can't take hints, she added mentally, wondering if she should say it aloud. "Damn. Can I see your gun?" "It's in my bedroom," she said absently. The instant the words were off her lips she knew they were a fatal slip. "Well, we can go in there," he said amiably. "No, we can't. I do have to get up tomorrow morning, Richard." Though that was a lie. She and Mulder both had tomorrow off. She walked over and opened her door. "Good night." He stared at her for along moment, then stood and strode rapidly across the room at her. She stood her ground. She had stood her ground against psychopathic serial killers, eccentric psychics, and Mulder. But she wasn't expecting Richard to suddenly shut the door, shove her roughly into the wood, and press his lips and body against her's. She was so shocked she didn't even think for the first few seconds. She pushed at him, but he didn't budge. Then, almost reflexively, her knee found his crotch, and her elbow found the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades when he silently doubled over. She calmly opened the door, pushed him out, and paused in the doorway. "Don't call me, I'll call you," she said. She briskly shut the door, carefully locking it. This was the reason she never went on dates. It was sad. The only man she truly respected, who returned the respect, and was truly a wonderful guy, was Mulder. And he. . . She refused to even think it. Mulder was a great looking guy who was constantly out on dates with tall, lithe blonds. And of course, Mulder didn't care for her past a working friendship. She was pitiful. It was ridiculous to even entertain thought of her partner. Even if he was handsome, and gentle, and intelligent, and just waiting for a good woman to rescue him from himself. But they could never work out. Mulder just didn't care for her. But when she thought of how many times he had saved her life, and she his, thoughts of lying beside another man seemed even more ridiculous. This, she thought, will be gone by tomorrow morning. This is just Richard's fault. She wandered into her orderly kitchen and pulled an International House of Coffee tin from her cupboard. "Celebrate the moments of you life," she muttered to herself. She heated up some water and absently poured it quickly into the two cups she had prepared. It wasn't until she had stirred the drinks and added milk and sugar to the Mocha powder that she realized Mulder wasn't with her to drink the seconds cup. Just as she was chastising herself, and getting ready to dump the cup out, she heard a brief knock on her door. She froze, then crossed the room silently, balancing on her tiptoes to see out her peephole. No, Richard hadn't come back. It was Mulder. "Hi," she said, letting him in. Mulder's eyes instantly scanned her apartment, and she could have sworn she saw relief in his eyes when her date was decidedly absent. Either that, or she was just paranoid. "I saw some guy stumbling to his car as I came up the walkway. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. Know him?" "Wish I didn't," she murmured. "Here, have a cup of coffee." She handed him his cup, glade he was there to drink it. "Gosh, Scully, you invited the guy up for coffee? After one date? Where is he?" She sent him a very dangerous look. "Richard is gone. I did not invite him up for coffee." "Oh, Mulder said. He took a sip of his coffee. "Who was the second coffee for?" She felt a blush rising to her cheeks, so she turned her back and pretended to be intensely interested in with what she was facing, which just happened to be a stack of napkins. "You, actually. I wasn't thinking. You and I usually have coffee together, and I just made a second cup for you." "You don't think we're developing a psychic bond?" Mulder asked, his voice completely serious. "I hope not," she said absently, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if he knew what she was thinking about him right now. "What, Scully? Are you afraid to be inside my mind?" "Just a little." "So, how was the date?" "Dreadful. I thought I was being punished for some horrible sin. Say, what new case are we working on?" "I thought the guy staggering out of here with his hands on his crotch was the work of Special Agent Dana Scully," he said, completely ignoring her change of subject. "Mulder, don't even start." "Poor Scully. Never can get lucky in love. Me, on the other hand. . ." "Did your date with Vicky go well?" She asked, glad of being able to focus on her partner, and not herself. "Wonderful," Mulder said. *************************** Little did she know that his date with Vicky was a bald faced lie. The woman had called and canceled twenty minutes before he was going to pick her up. Her mother was apparently in town. Sure. But at least Scully's date hadn't gone well, either. "Mulder?" "What? Huh?" "I said, what prompted the trip over here?" "I. . .oh. I don't remember. I should probably just go." Mulder stood, then studied his partner critically. She was still in what she had worn on her date, a classical little black dress. Spaghetti straps ran over her creamy flawless shoulders, and the hem of the skirt was shorter than what she normally wore to work. Not too short, of course, but it showed off her beautiful legs wonderfully. Her makeup was still fresh on her face, and he couldn't help but admire her. Her crystal blue eyes were suddenly focusing on him as he realized he was staring at her. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said. He stood and walked to the door, hearing her walk up behind him. "Well, good night," she said, watching as he opened her front door. He caught a delicate scent of her perfume as she came up close behind him. It must have been a crazy spirit that possessed his body. Because at that point, he suddenly turned, pulled Scully close to him, and bent over her, pressing his lips against her's. And an ever more crazy spirit must have possessed Scully because she began kissing him back. He could taste the soft chocolate coffee in the kiss, and was more than phenomenally shocked when she didn't push him away after a few moments of surprise. If anything, her hands going to pull his tie off said something dramatically different. "Oh," he suddenly gasped, pulling back. Scully, in her urgency to remove the tie, had in actuality tightened it. He could barely breathe. "Here, let me help you," he heard her say, her soft laugh pleasantly close to him. It wasn't until she took a step back and put her hand on the tie that they both realized what they were doing. They stared for a moment at each other, in an agonized silence. Then, he broke it first. "I'm sorry," he said, backing even further off, feeling a distinct sorrow as her hands slid off his chest. He reached for the door and opened it, stepping outside. "I'll see you at work tomorrow." "Sure," she said as he shut the door. He was surprised to hear the pain in her voice. ***************************** Well, of course. What the hell had she been thinking? But when his arms had suddenly encircled her and his lips had touched her's, she had been swept away. Not even a cold shower cold help. And tomorrow she would have to face him at work. The prospect made her want to make a radical career change. . .to be an ice fisher in Alaska. Might as well just go to bed. She flipped off the lights in her apartment, and went into her bedroom. It was really aggravating, when one thought about it. Mulder, for crying out loud! Maybe she just needed a vacation. She reached behind her back and did a wild little dance as she tried to unzip the dress she was wearing. The zipped was at the irritating point where she couldn't pull it down from above or below. This was the price of being single. The tears didn't start burning in her eyes until after she imagined Mulder's large, strong hands on her pack, pulling the zipper down for her in his normal, tender way. She didn't even have her damn dog anymore. She finally slipped out of the dress, and also peeled off her bra and panties. Then, she stepped across her room and into the bathroom, running her bathtub full blast. She tested the water carefully with a toe, then slipped into it, reaching over to open a bottle of bubble bath. It poured into the water and instantly foamed up, creating a thick layer of bubbles on the water surface. All that was visible was her knees. She reached over and turned her water-safe stereo on, switching the Celine Dion CD to tract five; 'Seduces Me'. It seemed appropriate. Her hands returned to resting on the side of the tub. And then, her bathroom door, which had been slightly ajar about seven inches, suddenly pushed open wider, and Mulder was standing there. She was shocked into silence. "Oh, God, Scully, I'm sorry," he said. "You didn't lock you door when I came back and you didn't answer. . ." he backed up hastily, almost bolting away. "No, wait! Mulder, come back!" She saw him sheepishly return to her door. "You can come in," she said wearily. "There bubbles won't be wearing off for a while." Mulder paused hesitantly in the door, like a little boy. Then, he walked across her tile, kneeling swiftly by the tub. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, then gently turned it over and kissed her palm. "Scully. . ." he suddenly smiled and kissed her hand again. "Dana, I'm sorry." "For what?" She thrilled to the touch of his soft lips against her skin. "For leaving. For what I feel for you." He kissed her fingers again. "Mulder, do you. . .?" "I do, Dana, I do. I do want you. I did feel jealous when you were out tonight. I really care about you." "I really care about you, too," she said, taking her hand away to run it along the side of his face. She felt tears of frustration in her eyes. "But what can we do about it?" "Well," he said, moving closer to touch her arm, "I can leave tonight and we can meet each other at work tomorrow morning and pretend this never happened. . ." "Or?" She asked, feeling a tremor run through her body. "Or," he said, touching her hair. "I can stay here tonight and make love to you." She closed her eyes silently, feeling a long breath leave her lungs. Now, faced with the situation, she was terrified of destroying it. "What do you want me to do, Dana?" The silence was screaming as he stared at her. "I want," she said, her voice hollow in her ears, "I want you to stay." She heard his breath catch beside her, and when she opened her eyes, his large, clear, brown ones staring into her. He pulled both hands back and studied her for a moment, then stood. "Can I join you?" Scully felt her pulse quicken. "Of course," she said shyly. "Well, you have to turn around first. I'm not just going to strip for you here." "Oh," she said, squelching a nervous giggle. She sat up a bit and turned her back accordingly. And she didn't peek, not even when he slipped into the water behind her, his hand resting on her shoulders as his legs went around her. She felt him pull her inter him, and the sensation of his bare chest against her back took her breath away. He reached above them for a washcloth hanging on a towel rack as she hesitantly let her arms settle on his legs. Though she certainly wanted him, it was difficult to push professionalism and friendship away. She felt her body tense against her will. "Dana," he said. "I don't want to push you. I can take as long as you need." He touched her ear with his lips, breathing into her ear, then over her jaw. He slowly drew his lips over her cheek, and to her throat, to the curve of her neck and shoulder. His hands continued to rest gently on her shoulders, then, as his kisses became more intense, she felt his hands mover over her shoulders and down her arms, then to her waist. Gently he touched her stomach, then, hesitantly, he ran his hand over her breast. A chill raced through her and she let out a small, soft cry. Even in the warm water, she shivered. He moved his hands off her breasts and to her stomach again, then over her belly button and to her legs. "Dana," he whispered tenderly. "Fox," she replied. Somehow his first name seemed normal on her lips. His long, strong fingers gently massaged the skin on her upper leg, moving teasingly close to her inner thigh. She pushed her back into her, her eyes shut, every part of her trembling in anticipation. "Ever first I since saw you I have thought about this night," he said into her ear. "What I would do to you, what you would do to me. . .are you sure this is alright? You can always push me away, if you need to." "I don't need to push you away." His fingers slid over her thigh and between her legs. She stiffened against him, her fingers clenching his knees with a vice-like grip. "Oh, Jesus, Fox!" He chuckled softly against her, gently touching her, delighting in her cries. She couldn't believe the pleasure he could bring. Then, just as she felt she could barely stand it, he pulled away and began to rise, pulling her out of the bubbles. "Fox?" "Sh," he said softly. He was still standing behind her and he held her hand as she stepped out of the tub. She heard him gasp, and she could feel his eyes traveling along her body. She turned to face him, and heard her own gasp. Mulder's naked body, even still covered with patches of bubbles, was a work of art. Mulder smiled at her and pulled a towel off the rack, stepping forward to rub it first over her shoulders, then over her arms and stomach, and down her legs. She took the towel from him and began to return the favor, gently smoothing the towel along his body, kissing wherever it touched him. As she was kneeling, drying off his muscular legs, he suddenly dropped to the floor in front of her, taking her face in his hands. "Dana, are you sure you want to do this? Can you forgive me for what is going to happen here?" His eyes were so concerned, she almost had to laugh. "I do, Fox, I do." She touched his face in return. "I have been waiting, repressing everything I had because I didn't think you would ever care . . . don't stop it now, please." Mulder chuckled. "I think that is the first time I have ever heard you beg, Agent Scully. I think I like it." She chuckled and shook her head. Then she leaned forward and found his lips, gently plying them apart. They kissed for a few moments, but as the kisses became more insistent he pulled her to her feet and maneuvered her to the bedroom. She didn't mind sacrificing her complete independence, not with the way he was looking at her and touching her. She settled on the bed first, staring up at him. He suddenly looked worried. "Fox, please, I need you," she whispered, pulling him down to her. He touched her face, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I don't want to rush this," he said, even though she could tell in his eyes that his desire was growing painfully. "Don't worry about me. I'm ready for you." Mulder met her eyes again, then took her face in his hands and kissed her lips. She held on to him tightly, feeling his growing excitement as their kisses and caresses became more intense. The tension and tenderness of three long years would finally have a release tonight. She closed her eyes, feeling him pause above her, then the pure joy as he filled her. He was such a gentle lover, so completely unlike she had expected. Everything was so perfectly coordinated. They were a perfect match. Every movement was a work of art. Together they experienced the ecstacy, almost too soon. He held her tightly to him, then pulled away after a moment to straighten the twisted sheets. She pulled him back to her, nuzzling against him, pressing her entire body against his skin, wanting to be as close as possible. She felt his arms tighten around her. "I love you, Fox Mulder." "And I love you, Dana Scully." *************************** When Fox Mulder woke up and discovered himself in Scully's bed, in Scully's room, with Scully sleeping naked in his arms, he thought he was just having another dream. It wasn't until he blinked and the vision remained that he realized it was real. He glanced at the petite woman and smiled, running his fingers lightly over her jaw. She really was his. She had finally surrendered herself to him. And to think that, as he was striding back to her apartment last night after the kiss, he had thought he was making a mistake in returning. The woman lying in his arms was absolutely beautiful, even in sleep, and he usually considered her sapphire eyes the prettiest part of her. He continued to study her, nothing the fine nose and the delicate cheek bones, the large full lips and her long lashes. A tiny, subtle smile was curved on her lips, and he had the sudden urge to kiss it. To wake Sleeping Beauty. He moved carefully to avoid jostling her, then bent over her face, pressing his lips against her's. She stirred beneath him, then suddenly bolted upward with a cry of surprise, her hand shooting out to the bedside table. She had her gun out and pointed at him in a second. The stared at each other in shocked silence, then she began to laugh first. "You startled me," she said, putting the gun down. Mulder smiled at her. Scully so rarely offered him more than a smile, and her laugh was so beautiful. "I wonder if Sleeping Beauty did that when the Prince came to rescue her," she said, kissing him again. "Good morning, Fox." "Good morning, Dana. I'll consider myself warned." Her smile turned into a more common frown of concern. "Have we made a mistake?" She asked, searching his eyes worriedly. "No. Never." He kissed the closest available piece of skin, which was her nose. "Although Frohike might be upset I slept with his woman." She crinkled her nose adorably, another thing he had never seen her do. He realized suddenly that moving forward meant that there was so much to learn about her, to see a side of her that had always been hidden by professionalism. "I love you," she said, studying his eyes almost critically to see what his reaction was. That was Scully, always double checking, making sure. "And I love you, too," he said in return. "Now," she said, laughing to herself. "We still have to figure out where to go from here." "No today we don't. Today's our day off. We can spend the whole day together. We don't even have to leave this room." Dana put the tips of her fingers together and hunched her shoulders. "Excellent," she said, in a perfect imitation of Mr. Burns from 'The Simpsons'. Mulder didn't even know Scully had seen one episode of 'The Simpsons' in her entire life. There was a lot of things they didn't know about each other. And it would be a wonder experience as they found out together. The End Please send me info, good and bad, on how you liked it, to danabryant@earthlink.net