TITLE: Miraculous Manifestation AUTHOR: mountainphile RATING: NC-17 EMAIL: mountainphile @hotmail.com URL: http:www.geocities.com/mountainphile CATEGORY: MSR, Story SPOILERS: En Ami, all things SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully, while in pursuit of a miracle, uncover the one that already exists between them. ARCHIVE: I'd be honored! Just tell me where! DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, not me... ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: From inception to change to completion, my enduring thanks to a wonderful and diverse group of betas: to xedout and Nicknoc, for fine suggestions and encouragement; to Musea, for giving me a safe place to be vulnerable and for invaluable last-minute insights; and to Blackwood, beta extraordinaire... for many late nights, a gentle, discerning spirit, for unwavering excellence, and for friendship. AUTHOR'S NOTE at end. ************ Miraculous Manifestation (1/3) by mountainphile She peers through a dream-like haze of recollection one month old. It looked broken, she remembers. Awakened by the huff and rattle of the wind, it was the first thing she saw through the shimmering blue-green of Mulder's fish tank. A thin, esophageal filter tube cutting the surface of the water, a shotgun blast of bubbles wreathing its bisected length. It looked broken, but Scully knew it was nothing more than visual warp. The clear plastic would be joined and whole if she were to sit up and look at it from another angle, instead of from beneath the surface, on her side, seeing only the distortion. Her cheek felt bumpy from leaning against his couch pillow. She must have roused at some point during the stormy night to hunch over on her side, head on pillow, blanket pulled over her tucked form. The water was her nightlight. Just like it is for Mulder, she thought, as the bubbles danced and rippled. Suddenly, she missed him. She remembers when she rose from the couch, moving through his dark rooms in an undersea slow motion. Time hung suspended as she waded through these moments like water. On the way to the bathroom, she passed the heavy scent and low snore of Mulder from the bed. Moonlight eddied and lapped across the sheets, kissing his face and the exposed skin of his leg. If history played differently, she would have eased her body into the warmth beside him, to mouth his naked shoulder, to coax him toward wakefulness. Hindsight tells her she first needs a taste of resolution. It's been a moon's cycle since Daniel Waterston reappeared into her life. Feeling like she's come up for air, bobbing above and below the waterline, Scully takes a sharp, cleansing breath. She still feels regret. It's the same emotion she experienced after her return from CGB Spender, empty-handed and chagrined. That time, she managed to salvage a small measure of self-respect and closure in the face of her rashness. But not true absolution or forgiveness... especially from herself. Life is a journey, Scully believes. Her understanding of its twists and turns, its signposts and crossroads, had altered within a few days' time. All things happen for a reason, but all things are not expedient. There are gems to be found along the way, if one pays attention, and miracles to behold. There is wisdom in the careful picking and choosing of keepsakes along the path through life. Her pockets, she discovers regretfully, bulge from the weight of too many imperfect choices. She has seen Daniel twice since his brush with death. Her intention is to break all ties. However, there is also forgiveness and unanticipated acceptance from Maggie, so the road to final closure is now open-ended. As a result, tensions surface between her and Mulder. They struggle with skewed perspectives, mild refractions in their understanding and trust of one another. A hitherto unknown side of her life was disclosed to Mulder, she realizes, but he adjusted with amazing rapidity to the new dimensions Scully brought to herself and their relationship. Not off-balance for long, he's prepared himself for their next step together. She, however, looks back into the horizon, is still hindered by the debris of the past... In the weeks following his return from England, Mulder has not been shy about expressing his expectations. To Scully, his change of tack is both persuasive and intimidating. Twice he's boldly tested the sensual waters to gauge her receptivity. In what he feels should be the logical next step in their partnership, he seems determined in his own brusque way to bridge the uneasy gap that has opened between them. He chose the most inopportune and unlikely of times to begin. Late for a meeting several weeks ago, their car pulled with haste into the acrid depths of the Hoover's parking garage. They stepped from the car, when Mulder's cell phone suddenly rang out. She remembers him reaching over to lean on her, feeling that comfortable, heavy weight on her shoulder as he grabbed for the beeping cell phone with his other hand. It was his signal that he wanted her to wait for him. A small wink of his eye alerted her that yes, he knew they were late, and yes, he'd be quick in answering the call. It didn't occur to Scully that he had an agenda. Rather than talk and walk, he opted to rest against the car. She stood beside him and did little to mask her impatience. Shifting her foot, arms wrapped at her waist, she listened to his drone and sighed with annoyance. Her head was downcast when, on her shoulder, something unmistakable began to take place. His long, deliberate fingers slowly splayed, the tips light and teasing in their movement. They stroked along her shoulder and collarbone, making her lips part as she contemplated the significance of what was happening. She remembers lifting her head as his fingers slid over to investigate the soft curves of her jaw and earlobe, with tiny searching caresses that brought warmth rushing to her face. Mulder finished the phone call and their gaze met and locked. It occurs to her now that, on the day previous, she paid a lengthy visit to Maggie Waterston. "Ready?" His eyes were dark with insinuation, but the question was posed in a casual tone. "Ready for what, Mulder?" Aware of the double meaning, she felt compelled to make the distinction as long as his hand still touched her face. She licked her lips, startled that he would be so overtly possessive of her, and feeling chills at the slide of his finger behind her ear. "I'd say that's your call... " Withdrawing his hand, he left her suspended between relief and consternation. She knew the ball was in her court. What she didn't anticipate was how or when to return this enigmatic serve, this testing of her responses. As they moved toward the elevator, she felt his light touch on her back again, a tangible manifestation of his presence and intent. He'd done it since they first became partners and seemed determined to carry the gesture into present time. The game is changing; there are new rules to learn, a different way to play. Scully realizes, with a start, that she needs to pay closer attention. ******************** These are the things Scully remembers and ponders a week later, as she approaches their office after hours. Her last business of the day and the halls are dim, the building is quiet. Often now, she observes events, people, and her surroundings in the objectivity of aftermath. She is faced with the straightening up, the tying of loose ends her earlier decisions have left undone. In medicine, others make the closing sutures, others clean up the messes she leaves. She is not proud that this has become a habit, an attitude, spilling over into her personal life. Changes are due. She doesn't expect to find Mulder here now. He's working on a secretive, new case and plowing through various avenues of research that strike his fancy. The room is dark and she snaps on the desk lamp, noticing his familiar clutter in the sudden wash of light; sunflower seeds and hulls, pieces of paper bearing his slanted scrawl, computer printouts, and his glasses. Braced as they are on his desk blotter, she can look through the lenses and see how the magnification breaks and staggers objects behind them. Images distorted and broken. Mirroring the tube in the fish tank. She wonders what it would be like, accompanying Mulder to that next level of sexual familiarity. Between them are years of shared trust and respect, loyalty and affection. She's given her body to others for far less noble reasons, when the simple mix of chemistry was right or when she craved physical release. It is disarming to realize that emotional vulnerability is, for her, the greater intimacy. Mulder is not one to dwell on the superficial; he forges ahead and digs far deeper than her skin. His passion drives him to possess and discover. Looking down on his desk at his personal belongings, at the glasses he sometimes wears, she's not convinced she's ready to subject every secret door to his implacable scrutiny. His departure from the office appears hasty. Several videotapes are tumbled across his desk, and picking one, she reads the title. All the titles, in fact, are similar; nature videos about geysers, hot springs, and thermal activity. Intrigued by the topic of his current research, but preoccupied with her own affairs, she walks to the rear desk and grabs a small stack of papers that sit next to her microscope. She has work of her own to finish. The shrill ring of her cell phone breaks the silence and prickles her scalp. Fishing it from her coat pocket, she knows the caller and wonders what he wants now. "Scully." "Where are you?" It's Mulder, of course, and she muses on his question. Her location shouldn't matter. His tone is curious, boyish, and she can picture his expression on the other end of the line. Windblown dark hair, greenish-brown eyes with a faraway look and slight crinkle at the corners, a hint of impatient smile, teeth and tongue worrying a bit of leftover seed within pouting lips... Her mind swirls with a surge of emotion and she lifts her brows, amazed at her visceral reaction. Mulder has an uncanny way of touching her body with his voice, teasing her nerve endings, stroking her sensibilities with seductive fingers. She swallows. "I'm at the office," she says, knowing her hesitation will be misinterpreted. "I, um, needed some paperwork for the report I'm working on over the next few days." Her stammer is ignored, which she finds suspicious. "Hey, Scully... what does the term *miraculous manifestation* do for you?" His voice competes against background noise; he must be driving. "I assume by miraculous manifestation you're referring to a visual or physical representation that defies or contravenes the laws of nature as we know them. Most often they're religious or spiritual, such as relics that heal, or glowing crosses, or ecstatic visions... " "Bingo." "So, Mulder... dare I ask *why* miraculous manifestations?" "I can tell you that... on the way." A red warning flag springs up, waving in her mind; his words clearly signal a *deja vu* in the making. "Mulder, this is a Friday night. On the way to where?" "Lifestyles of the rich and famous, Scully. We're going to visit a country estate where we should find an X-File with miraculous implications." She glances at her watch, frowning at the ill timing. Simultaneously, her stomach contracts with a growl, as if in answer to his proposition. If crop circles don't materialize, then Mulder will make certain that something else will. "You've spent several days jealously guarding this new investigation of yours. I noticed some of your videotapes and the content, but you haven't bothered to share any of it. And now, suddenly, it's *we* and I'm expected to drop everything, in spite of my own workload, and the fact that my weekend has officially begun. All of which is pissing me off, I might add... " "I didn't think you were that busy - " "Well, you can think again." She fumes under her breath, surprised at how much she resents this new imposition. It's only lately that she gives voice to her objections with such ease and vigor. The last time she objected, weeks ago, Mulder was under the assumption that she should fly with him to England on a lark, to investigate computer-generated crop circles... and all for no substantive purpose. But now she is disturbed by the possibility that he might have simply desired her company, her companionship, and nothing more. She stands between her table with its microscope and Mulder's desk, cognizant of two divergent paths that bisect her life. Her annoyance toward him is diluted by a fresh wave of self-recrimination. It's humbling, this sour taste of guilt on her tongue. "I've been occupied with the Sullivan autopsy results. It's almost seven, Mulder, and I haven't eaten since eleven- thirty," she amends, her voice losing its edge. "My shoulders are sore and I was really looking forward to going home and climbing into a hot bath." "Hang in here with me just a little longer, Scully, and I promise you'll get your wish... Do you have a suitcase with you?" This gets better and better, she grouses to herself. "The answer is yes, but please tell me you're pulling my leg." "Have I ever...? " "Still sounds like a hustle to *me*, Mulder." She hears his low, familiar huff in the receiver and knows he's humored by this exchange. Her acquiescence is therefore assumed. In a seesaw of emotion, she bows to the inevitable and looks down, phone still pressed to her ear. As goading as it may be to take the fallback position, the prospect of new adventure excites her. It still remains her secret pleasure to accompany Mulder, to watch as he delves into a new case. His eyes gleam with fervency and discovery, with the sheer joy of pursuing each new revelation... and she shares in the thrill when she reaches out to grasp the hand extended to her in partnership. However, she remembers she's made other possible, tentative plans for the weekend and feels torn between the two paths in her life. Bobbing above and below the waterline, perceptions refracting and unclear... Hedging, she throws out another obligatory objection. "You're capable of checking out this *miraculous manifestation* on your own. And you seem to have enough enthusiasm for both of us, from the sound of it," she points out. "Besides... if it isn't a legitimate casefile, I don't know if it's necessary for me to make a trip like this on such short notice." The line falls silent for a few moments, and when Mulder speaks his voice is smooth, surly with a tension only she can detect. She knows immediately by the murmur and monotone that he's offended by her words. "I was under the impression that unexpected night rides and personal interest investigations were your forte, Scully. A new sideline... but maybe my assumption is incorrect." He's pausing, letting his words sink in. Damn him... "In any case, we have an agreement to follow up on leads like this together. No ditching, no exclusion. We work as a team. And for all the wide range of experience we've had in the paranormal, exposure to this phenomenon in particular will be beneficial to both of us... " She closes her eyes in chagrin. There's no denying the truth in his words. However she rues it, she still bears the stigma and takes the backlash for her impulsive mission to save the world, risking her neck for a fruitless cause. For playing into the enemy's hands. It's apparent Mulder hasn't recovered from the emotional hell he endured at her last disappearance. Fretting over her well-being and safety, wondering if she'd come back alive. He pulls rank now, making it clear that their previous discussion on solidarity stands firm and fully encompasses tonight's unfolding events. His point is valid, she admits to herself. After berating him repeatedly over the years for the same fault, she doesn't have the luxury of begging off. Especially since she's reneged the last time and stumbled, consequentially, across a man whose existence she's kept buried for ten years... "Fine, then. You've got me." "Parking garage, in ten." And she's left with the purr of a dial tone. **************** Miraculous Manifestation (2/3) by mountainphile Ten minutes grow to twenty-five before Mulder appears. The reason for the delay is obvious when she opens the back door of the car to deposit her suitcase and coat on the seat; the air is pungent with the odor of fast-food grease. She spots a telltale white bag at his elbow and feels her stomach twinge again. "Anything edible in there?" she asks, sliding into the front seat and fastening her seat belt. Angling her body towards him, she realizes a whole day has elapsed since they've seen one another. He's wearing the light blue shirt that contrasts so well against his dark hair, and the dark gray suit. The sleeves are rolled and pushed up his forearms, his collar button undone. The tie is gone, tossed into the back with his jacket. He's ready for a long drive. Wary and expectant, she looks up at him. "Believe it or not, I remembered that you'd risk starvation rather than eat anything deep-fried," he says, munching on a French fry. With a knowing smile he carefully works a square plastic container out of the bag, handing it to her, his expression smug. "Garden salad du jour. With chicken and low fat ranch dressing, I think." His thoughtfulness touches her. So often she forgets that his concerns encompass more than research and solve percentage. In a surge of gratitude she smiles and looks into his eyes. "Mulder, this is perfect. Thank you... " The recognition her words spark is undeniable. She sees how they affect him, making his eyes and face go tender, and suddenly she realizes the parallel in time and word and circumstance. He's not forgotten what transpired only nights ago. The night when he, for the second time, tested the waters between them... She remembers standing in the chill evening breeze, waiting for the ride that would not come. This was one of those infrequent times when they were associated with another pair of agents. It was the Sullivan murder case, involving extensive background work. And the agents were the over- zealous Lester Bain and Herb Fagadau, who irritated the hell out of Mulder and who, regrettably, were driving. Mulder grumbled at the inconvenience. He hated being dependent upon others for transportation, but at least he came prepared. It was Bain who decided they could best utilize their time if he was dropped off alone to check out a lead. Mulder, Scully, and Fagadau proceeded across town to a remotely situated antique shop to question the owner and gather evidence. Only minutes into their inquiry, Fagadau's cell phone rang and he excused himself to retrieve his partner. He had not returned when the questioning was finished after closing hours. When the owner locked the door and also departed from the isolated shop. The early spring night darkened, the air grew colder and windier. Too late Scully realized she underdressed, wearing only her light pantsuit as protection. She stood next to him, shivering despite futile attempts to hide shaking arms and quivering lips. Still no car approached and her teeth were on the verge of chattering... Mulder, in his long, over-sized coat, loose and unbuttoned, cast guilty looks of concern at her state of exposure. The few, brisk rubs he gave her arms did very little to alleviate her misery or protect her from the cold, and she felt his frustration. It was not an unheard of thing for him to share clothing with her on occasion -- a tee shirt or a scarf -- but that was done in private and friend-to-friend. So she arched her brow in surprise when he muttered, "C'mere, Scully." Before she could move or make a reply, he stepped forward, wrapping the open edges of the garment around her like a windbreak. Enveloped in the depths of the coat, she absorbed the waves of heat generated from his body. Toasty and comforted, she huddled against him, her frigid hands creeping along his sides to burrow up near his armpits. Each nuance and movement evoked memories, precious souvenirs of times and cases and files long past. Late night winter stakeouts. His hand molding hers around a cup of hot coffee. Huddling together on cement-hard snowpack in the middle of a frozen wasteland, her hands and face shoved into the folds of his parka... She murmured, from within this haven, the same appreciative words: "Mulder, this is perfect. Thank you... " With her ear against his chest, she heard his deep, answering hum, felt protective arms tighten around her. His hands, grasping the edges of the coat, began tentative strokes along her back and shoulders, in a massage designed to stir both blood and body. She closed her eyes, lulled and warmed. Sheathed within his coat, their individual scents co-mingled to produce a heady fragrance. Mulder whispered her name. His voice seemed unexpectedly close to her ear, and turning her face upward to him, she found his mouth poised to cover hers. She was ready, this time, to return his serve, to play the game. Warmth, gratitude, and the steady caress of his hands urged her forward to meet him. Without hesitation their mouths melted together in a simple fluid motion, lips opening, sliding in languorous abandon. He tasted both sweet and salty, and she relished the warm thickness of his tongue searching her mouth, slow and deep. Yes, much better than that New Year's peck. So *this* is Mulder, she thought, her heart pounding. This is Mulder... And for a few moments nothing mattered except the feverish need to know this part of him, to experience him through his kiss. They stepped away from one other when the car finally made its belated approach, headlights bouncing over the rutted road. Bain apologized profusely for the delay. Fagadau, behind the wheel, cast suspicious glances at them in the rearview mirror. Sharing the back seat once again for the return trip, they were quiet and content to let the other two agents carry the conversation. But as she gazed out the night-dimmed window, she felt Mulder's hand creep into her lap to capture hers. The remainder of the drive back was an awkward, titillating game of holding her partner's restless hand in the darkened car while appearing innocuous before their colleagues. Her face burned like a teenager's; his intent was to make her feel like one. For the next day or two they saw little of each other. No reference has been given to the incident until now, as she takes the fast-food salad and conveys her thanks. Mulder's expression makes it clear he's not forgotten the excitement of what transpired between them. "You know what I like... " she murmurs, meaning his choice of dinner, before considering how these words can now be misconstrued. Her regret obvious, she feels her face color when he glances at her with a knowing grin. She gets down to the business of eating her salad, while he nibbles fries and maneuvers the car onto the road. "Shots in the dark, Scully. If I'm lucky, more hits than misses." He pokes another fry into his mouth and smirks. "I can recall one very successful hit." "Don't let it go to your head." "Come on, you liked it, too... " Her head tilts sideways, considering. A small, pesky lock of hair obscures her eye, and she takes cover behind it. Yes, she likes the taste of his mouth, the bullish way he parts her lips with his tongue, feeling his hands pull her body tight against him. The memory, so fresh, evokes a shy smile. "Yesss... " she says softly, drawing out the sibilance even more than usual, "Yes, I did, Mulder." "Then you won't mind sharing a Biggie coke and the same straw with me... " They eat in silence, darkness falling with the miles. When she deposits her empty container into the paper bag and takes another swig of soda, Mulder reaches into the back seat to grab a file folder. He hands it to her with a flourish. "Here, Scully, chew on this." She snaps on the overhead light and slides out a photograph of a stone statue. It appears to be the Virgin Mary, surrounded by sparse foliage, ablaze in the bright light caused by the camera's flash. Typical Catholic statue, unremarkable... "Now that I'm *finally* privy to this information," she quips dryly, "What am I looking for?" "Take a *closer* look." Tilting the photo upward, into the light, she can see that the statue's face is wet, the stony surface glazed from eyes to chin. This is not what she expects. No... this is classic Mulder. Even computer-generated crop circles seem more plausible than this dampened piece of religious sculpture. Her lips, at first pursed with skepticism, now bow into an amused smile, but she says nothing more. She knows he's serious about this. It wouldn't do to offend him further and be forced to share the front seat with an irritated Mulder for an extended period of time. When she glances back at him, she sees she's too late; his sharp eyes notice her grin and he shakes his head. "I swear, Scully, you're battin' a thousand..." he mutters. He's already irked with her. What the hell. She decides she won't allow herself to be intimidated by his gruffness. She's had a long day too, a long week in fact, of work and lab reports -- and soul-searching. "You're the one who taught me to bat, so you have only yourself to blame." Mulder lifts a hand from the steering wheel and points a forefinger at her, his thumb extended upward like the hammer of a gun. "Touche." "And I'm counting on the fact that you've already checked to see that this thing wasn't sitting next to the sprinkler head or any other water source... like, like... " She motions with her hand, "... a swimming pool or maybe a fountain... " He purses his mouth to the side and glances at her suspiciously. "Fine. Its precise location happens to be next to a natural hot springs, hidden on the owner's property. It's a thermal area. In the lower right of the picture you can see some of the mist." He reaches over, taps the picture she's holding with an authoritative finger. "Why am I not surprised, Mulder?" "The same reason your damned predictable skepticism doesn't surprise me. If you'll make the effort to notice, the statue is wet only on the lower half of its face, under the eyes. By all accounts, and according to the eyewitnesses, it's a genuine weeping icon, a miraculous manifestation, and the owner has asked that it be verified privately and discreetly, by our office." His fervor subdues her response. "I see. Do you have a picture of the hot spring itself?" "Underneath." Slipping a photo from under the pages on her lap, she sees a rustic, but well-maintained pool site, surrounded by rocks and vegetation. It's small, steamy, and the statue is positioned several yards away from the water. "Who are the eyewitnesses?" "A niece of the owner, who happens to be a fairly wealthy man in those parts. Moved there over a year ago with his extended family, not realizing his property had its own natural wonder, which is kind of unusual for the general area. Thermal phenomena here in Virginia is actually closer to the western, Blue Ridge, Appalachian side of the state. The patriarch of the family contacted me through an undisclosed source." "And they're Catholic?" "Uh... yes, devotedly so. Big Italian family." Scully grips the file and looks out the dark window for a moment, before snapping off the overhead light and plunging the front seat into darkness again. She steals a furtive glance at Mulder. He has that look again, the one that undoes her every time -- avid, intense, and rabid for a new discovery. All she's usually able to do is hang on for the ride and hope to keep him grounded. She watches the bright bands from headlight and highway flash across his face, illuminating his eyes, the determined line of his chin, and feels a deep twinge of love for this man. She hates to play devil's advocate, to be the one who pulls him back to earth one more time. "So let's hear it, Scully. Drag your foot and then let me have it right in the balls." She holds the file in her lap and angles sideways against the seatbelt, to face him with the inevitable. "Since you insist... this sounds like a typical confirmation bias. A -- a type of selective thinking, whereby one tends to notice and look for what confirms one's beliefs, and to ignore or undervalue the relevance of what contradicts those same beliefs." His teeth, she notices, are beginning a slow drag and chew on his lower lip as he listens. "Also, people who put forth such fantastic claims are often suffering from self-deception. They mislead themselves by accepting as true or valid what is obviously fakery. It's a convenient way to justify false beliefs -- " "I know what it is." She looks down and sighs, looks up again. "Are you sure you want me to continue?" "By all means." "All right, then. It also sounds very similar to communal reinforcement -- which I know you're familiar with -- when a claim becomes a strong belief through repeated assertion by members of the community. In this case, the niece and her family. The process is independent of whether or not the claim has been properly and thoroughly researched or is supported by empirical data significant enough... " Her voice grows quiet as she hesitates. "Don't slow down now, Scully. You've neglected to mention collective hallucinations, which occur especially among the religiously devoted who hope to witness a miracle. Or, hey - - let's not forget confabulation, when fantasy unconsciously replaces fact in memory -- " "Mulder... " "Now I know why you like to wear those high heels... " Snapping the file shut, she tosses it into the back seat with a sharp, terse twist of her wrist. "Let me know when you want to discuss this with any kind of seriousness." "After all you've seen you *still* hold back. After experiencing the unexplainable countless times over and coming face to face with the unknown... Whatever happened to faith, Scully? Hume said, 'To believe in a miracle is not an act of reason, but of faith.' I won't dispute the man." "Then don't confuse the issues... " "And don't deny them. Let's talk about that vision you saw in front of the statue of Buddha, shall we? And what about the woman with the hat? Go ahead and explain all that away. Recant your heresy, Scully. It won't be the first time -- " She averts her face, trying to control the emotions surging within her. He's not playing fair, making everything she says sound like betrayal or patronization or bitchiness. She doesn't want to fight with him... she was, in fact, feeling rather tender towards him a few minutes ago, remembering his sweetness and the romantic Mulder hiding beneath the barbs he's displaying now. His next words startle her. "I wasn't *jealously guarding* this investigation, as you so adroitly put it on the phone. Has it even occurred to you that I might want to be relatively sure about what I'm investigating, before I decide to spill it to you?" In the semi-darkness, Scully notices his hands, long and expressive. Right now they clench the steering wheel and his knuckles pale. He's fighting the trickle of confession that flows within its banks of reserve and threatens to become a river. He's afraid to fail again, after the trip to England, and doesn't want to look like a fool in front of her. Mulder's covering his ass, she realizes, with a dull ache. She swallows and closes her eyes for a moment. And decides to risk a shot of her own into the dark. "Are you still angry I didn't go with you?" His smile mocks her. "Not at all. I'm pissed you stayed behind. There's a big difference." It all comes back to those few days of separation. Mulder goes in search of the supernatural and comes up empty. She remains home and the unexplainable falls headlong into her lap. Moreover, she touches it, engages it, in a way that opens up a whole new realm of possibility uncharacteristic of her. Without Mulder's presence and influence, her belief system takes an awesome stretch. And so he returns. Listening with understanding and curiosity, he is mildly taken aback at her tale of moral indiscretion with a married man. He grows quiet when she regales him with accounts of Daniel's brilliance and charisma, leaves him with the bitter image of Daniel touching her youth, fingering her naivete. All the while, he smarts from his own disappointment and failure. Now, reflecting back, she sees that Mulder was too quiet, almost non-communicative, when she left to visit with Maggie several times after Daniel's discharge. He hides his feelings so well. With a shock, she realizes he's jealous of the man, plain and simple. Perhaps, she wonders, he's even jealous of me... "If it makes it any more palatable, Mulder... I missed you then." Even in the darkness of the car, she sees the corner of his mouth soften, his eyes flicker and then look her way for a moment, before jerking back to the blackness ahead. His hands knead the wheel in a tortured grip and long minutes of silence lengthen between them. She's almost given up on getting a response, when Mulder suddenly blurts, "You know what I regret, Scully?" Mute, she shakes her head. "Not being in that Buddhist temple with you. Not being there when you had your vision. Just listening to you tell me about it the day I got back -- you marveled at what you'd seen and heard, when you felt you'd been given some sort of message. Dammit, you even had the motivation and faith to call in that sage-burning asshole to chant a public ritual for -- " He bites his lower lip and exhales. "I guess I feel cheated that I missed it... that I missed seeing *you* move so confidently and freely in that sphere of the supernatural... " Lifting her brows, Scully feels his sadness, can almost touch his disappointment, it's so tangible. She wants to tell him how much her thoughts went out to him during those moments of transcendence and vision. That throughout each step of her supernatural journey, it seemed like he was there with her... " ...I wanted to share that with you, Scully. And then, the night I returned... " His voice is slippery, eluding her conscious awareness, until his words penetrate the haze. She blinks her eyes and looks up at him. "... I covered you up. Left you asleep on the couch... but if I had any sense at all, I would've -- " He's pinching his lips together, unwilling to finish. "What would you have done, Mulder?" She hesitates a long moment before whispering, "Taken me to bed with you?" He swallows, driving headlong into the night. "Would you have come?" "That's a very good question," she says gently, giving her head a thoughtful tilt. "Then... I'm not sure *how* I would have reacted, or what I would have done. Maybe I would've considered it. But now... " With deliberate fingers she unclasps the seatbelt and slides closer to him. Looking up at his clenched jaw and leaning a silky head against his shoulder, she whispers, "I'd probably have to answer *yes* twice to the same question." "Shit, Scully... " "That one slipped right by you," she murmurs, suppressing a tiny smile of triumph. The car has just come to a gradual halt at a stop sign, and she takes the opportunity to reach her hand up and stroke his cheek. Mulder turns toward her in wonder; she lifts her chin to kiss him. It's a slow, exploratory meeting of lips that deepens when he groans into her mouth, when he moves his hand from the steering wheel to slide over and leisurely capture her breast as they kiss. She feels determined fingertips searching out a nipple when a car horn honks behind them. The fragile mood breaks like glass. Mulder curses and guns the engine to put distance between their car and the other, while Scully settles back onto her side of the vehicle, reattaching the seatbelt. After several miles of driving, the tension abates enough for them to look at one another again. With tenderness he reaches out to take her hand into his large, warm one and her heart skips a beat at this gesture. His eye, however, shows a mischievous sparkle. "There's something very important I neglected to tell you about this investigation." Scully matches his expression, her own eyes teasing. "You don't scare me, Mulder." Grinning, he gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "The niece also claims that the hot spring itself has miraculous healing properties. In fact, the whole family believes it." "How do they substantiate *that* claim?" "By how it makes them feel after bathing in it. They use it for physical healing. Aches and pains disappear, they report feelings of youth and energy. Even, uh... greater sexual prowess, I'm told." Scully opens her lips in amazement, shaking her head at the twinkling eyes of the man next to her. "And when were you planning to share *this* little tidbit of information with me?" "Oh... probably after we both got naked and climbed in... " *************** Miraculous Manifestation (3/3) by mountainphile Crouching in the semi-darkness next to the small, stone statue, Scully shakes her tired head in disbelief and lowers her flashlight. "Over three hours it took us to get here, Mulder... " "Please... don't. Don't even start with me, Scully. Just give me something to wipe this crap off my hand before I lose my cool." The statue's tears have nothing to do with spiritual sorrow or miraculous manifestation. They have everything to do with the devious application of a common, glycerin-based lubricant, which Mulder is endeavoring to remove from his fingers. Exposure to the air has turned the usually slick substance gummy and viscous. "Goddammit... " he mutters, wiping his hand in the grass. Scully fumbles in her pocket, bringing out several packets of moistened towelettes. Breaking one open, she reaches for his hand, begins rubbing the damp paper between his fingers with firm strokes. "Squeamish, Mulder?" He looks surprised. By way of explanation she nods toward the packets and offers, "Compliments of your fast-food run. I also know you'd never use them on your own." "Fortuitous, then." She works on each strong finger, pondering how he could pick up so much of the mess in the short time since they knelt to examine the icon. Worse than a kid, she thinks. To facilitate their investigation, the family has moved the small shrine from the site of the hidden hot spring to the front of the house, where they crouch before it. Here, she can still smell the telltale, rotten-egg scent of the water on the stone's granite-gray surface. And here, she wipes the evidence of fraud from her partner's inquisitive hand, hoping in the process that her touch will also erase some of the disappointment and frustration he must feel. She glances over at him and realizes he's watching, not her ministrations, but her face. In the dim light, his eyes seem both calm and tender. She wonders what her expression has unconsciously revealed in the last few minutes. "Mulder... " Forestalling her, he shakes his head, moving from the crouch to a standing position again. "Not yet... But thanks for cleaning me up, Mom." "Mulder, you have to go in and tell them the truth... " In a few minutes he does, and the perpetrator of the lie, they discover, is none other than the homeowner's pretty, dark-haired niece. She doesn't deny the allegation, but her loud, frantic sobbing echoes through the spacious halls when her deception is revealed. The dull terror of coming judgement in her eyes haunts Scully. She finds herself quickly gathering her supplies together and walking out to deposit them in the car. Though she hates feeling vulnerable, too many past fragments of herself are revealed in the young woman's face and eyes. Mulder turns his head toward her, but she leaves him to deal with the confessional aftermath. Moments of dread and humiliation, frozen in time. She remembers standing at attention before her own father's cold, disapproving stare. He made her feel criminal, as a child, as if her disobedience was a personal affront. Even as an adult, and after his death, he has the power to squeeze her heart anew. ("I expected more from you, Starbuck. Haven't I taught you better than that? And here I thought you knew to do the right thing.") Daniel took a different approach, treating her instead like a silly child, and then withdrawing his affections from her. Punishing her with scorn. ("God, Dana... you *really* know how to kill the mood! Forget the FBI -- it's a pipe dream, baby. Don't be foolish.") He would toss her underwear back to her, if they happened to be in bed, his love petulant and conditional. In a calculated move, he would wait to see her cave, come crawling back. For a while his strategy worked. But at the end, she valued her dignity more than his influence, and was unwilling to keep up the pretense and the hypocrisy of a lie. Truth, dignity, self-respect. These are the qualities Scully requires, even craves, when she charts her own path in life. Insulation becomes necessary in order to acquire them, in order to succeed as a woman in a man's world. How could she even suspect that her solitary journey would lead her, with unerring surety, to a government building and a shadowy basement office? That she would align herself with a man, both misunderstood and brilliant, who holds stars and dreams in his eyes, who offers her his hand in partnership -- and now, perhaps, even his heart... Jogged from her musing, she sees Mulder leave the house and tries to read his face. His beloved features reflect only concern as he approaches the car. Why is she so grateful for his presence just now? It seems natural and right when he moves close to her side, to lean an elbow on the car and look down into her face. "You OK, Scully?" She nods. "I'm... fine... just put our stuff away." Looking down, she gives a hint of a smile. "Did you wash your hand?" "Didn't have to," he smiles back. "You took care of me." "Mulder... " She takes a deep breath before continuing. "I'm sorry there's no X-File here for you... again. I know how much this meant to you, how much you wanted it to be genuine. And I certainly didn't make it any easier for you. As usual." "What do you mean?" Can she make him understand? This man of passion who stands with head tipped forward towards her, leaning his upper lip against the clenched curve of his fist, eyes hungry... "Oh, Mulder... it's so easy to discount or dismiss the intangible. We throw cold water on it and pretend it isn't there, that it can't *possibly* be there, because of a predisposition we may have towards the scientific and the rational. Yet... things happen. Things that can't be explained in any logical, scientific manner. So then, the greater challenge must lie in knocking down the barriers of doubt. In reaching beyond our self-imposed boundaries to embrace that which is unknown. Isn't that what *you* believe to be true?" She looks up at him with anxious, glistening eyes and suddenly realizes how much like Daniel she's sounded over the years. The thought makes her ill. Somewhere, during the early, critical development of her convictions and need for approval, Daniel's left his mark. The skeptical, denigrating sneer, like intrusive gouges etched into hardening cement, has marred her. His influence and teaching permeate her being like a virus. It took seeing him again, revisiting his manipulation, to make her aware of the awesome control he exudes. Mulder's hand touches her chin and startles her from reverie. "What's going on?" "I... " She shrugs, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I don't know, Mulder... these last few weeks... " She shakes her head in confusion, knowing the late hour and fatigue are also affecting her thoughts and judgement. Looking full into his gentle face, she whispers. "My God, whom would I talk to if I didn't have you? What would I do, Mulder? No one else could possibly understand." "I'll take that as a compliment," he murmurs, twisting one corner of his mouth into the hint of a grin, his eyes narrowed in that expression she finds so endearing. It's the conciliatory, tender look he uses when he's reassured she's come back to him, back to his side. "Mulder, what if the signs we encounter in life are distorted, maybe even deceptive... and we need someone else to help us validate them with us? What if that other person is so necessary to the balance that we're hampered in our ability to truly understand the meaning behind certain events in our lives until that special connection is made?" "Then, the true challenge is in the choosing -- or finding - - of that person." He leaves that thought undisturbed and open, like a pearl exposed and waiting to be plucked from the shell. Giving her cheek a soft caress he asks, "So you don't hold it against me? Dragging you out on another Friday night to bay at the moon? And it just so happens that there *is* a full moon tonight... " "How appropriate." "I knew you'd think so. Scully, the law of averages is stacked against us right from the beginning," he says. "How likely is it that we'd come all this way to actually find the elusive miracle? The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow...?" "That's where faith comes in," she whispers. His quiet laugh fades when he looks down at her tense face. Softly, his finger traces the line of her jaw, before dropping to his side. "I need to go back inside and finish up with these people. We'll be spending the night here, at their invitation. Bedtime soon." She sighs and nods, thinking a soft bed would be a very good thing right now. "I'll come back in with you. I'm done here." "No... actually, I want you to go and have a look at that hot spring." "What?" "Yeah, Scully, go check it out. Get a feel for it. Remember, that's supposed to be the real mystery, the true healing miracle. Take your flashlight and head up that path over there, and I'll be back soon to get your take on it." And before she can respond, he's turned on his heel, striding back to the house. ************** Tonight Scully surprises even herself. It isn't like her to be out strolling a stranger's property alone at midnight. It's even less like her to suddenly strip off her clothes and dip naked into dark, steaming waters under a full-faced moon... But she's doing it. Initially for Mulder, because she knows his assessment of this phenomenon will be based on firsthand experience. But now, also, for herself, because she feels brave and daring enough to break this trail ahead of him, rather than following his lead. Finding the small bathhouse, complete with fresh towels, is reassuring. She sits submerged in the dark, steamy water, watching the sky... and waiting. Blue moonlight gilds her shoulders amid the subtle movement of the water. It's warm, with the pungency of rotten egg, and clouds of steam rise from the surface as she sits gingerly on a small ledge, feet braced against the slick rock. The crunch of Mulder's footsteps on the gravel path can be heard long before she sees the flashlight's beam and his dark form outlined against the sky. He slows down, hesitates, before approaching the side of the spring. She knows he takes in every detail, though his eyes are hidden in shadow. He who is always alert to detail, who is never still or stagnant, appraises the scene before him. His chuckle is quiet and appreciative. "Looks like I've found my miraculous manifestation." "Shut up, Mulder. You could say I'm simply... testing the waters... " "Then I'm joining you," he announces, dropping to a crouch and reaching out to touch the water with a curious hand. "Be sure and keep it out of your mouth, Mulder. Just a word to the wise. This water is teeming with bacteria that shouldn't be ingested." The anticipation she feels thrills Scully. She's paying attention to a miracle in her own life. Forks in the road and the subsequent choices she's made have lead her, without a doubt, to this very moment in time. Here, to a natural hot spring far in the Virginia mountains, to a man who's been her partner for seven long and fascinating years. To Mulder. He stands and begins to disrobe before her, removing his jacket and tie, his belt, the light blue shirt. "Are you telling me it's polluted?" "No, but it's like any other natural water source. At the very least we know there is likely to be E. coli and giardia." "Not much room in there, Scully," he observes, taking off shoes and socks. "May be a tight fit." She catches the implication, wholly prepared to accept the consequences of his entry into the spring, yet not certain how far to take his innuendo. Little space means touching skin. And once that occurs, well... she knows all about long-suppressed desire and chain reaction. It's a volatile mix. She sits in a precarious stew, watching as Mulder unzips his trousers and lets them drop to his ankles in a heap. Poised, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and looks down at her. "Did you hear what I said?" "I heard you, Mulder. And like I told you earlier, you don't scare me." "That's not my intention." "I know. Bad joke." Averting her eyes as he slips off the underwear, she runs restless fingers along her collarbone. He scuffles on the rocks, splashes in the semi-darkness, mumbles as he steps on the uneven bottom before finding a small shelf of submerged rock on which to sit. Covering her mouth, it's all she can do to suppress a giggle at his less than graceful entry. His hands, looming from behind, settle on each of her shoulders and he leaves his seat to kneel at her back. In her peripheral vision, she sees him look around the pool and into the night shadows, as if he's making a precautionary sweep of the area. "Miraculous healing waters," he murmurs, with finality. "I hope they are, Mulder. For your sake... I want them to be." Turning his full attention back to Scully, he places a moist kiss on her jaw; his way of telling her he appreciates the sentiment. His thumbs trace the bones of her shoulders with gentle strokes. She can feel his knees and thighs behind her, the heat of his breath in her ear. "So... what were you saying about the water? If smell is any indication, I wouldn't be surprised to find out Humpty- Dumpty took his last tumble off the wall right here." "The rotten-egg odor is the sulfur." "And the E. coli, I know about that. But what big, bad things will giardia do to my system?" He's mouthing her skin as he speaks, applying small kisses to her shoulders and neck, while his hands play with her hair and trace circles on her upper arms. Mulder's touch is intoxicating; she's finding it difficult to think and answer his questions. "Giardia is... um, actually called Giardia Lamblia, a parasite that's quite... common in outdoor, untreated water sources. It causes severe intestinal distress if... ah, ingested... and antibiotics are usually necessary... " "So we won't drink it." "And because the water in springs like this is not... often replaced, bacteria and other organisms can grow to high levels... in such geothermal conditions. And shouldn't be introduced... into the body... " The caresses halt, and Scully can almost feel the wheels of thought turning in his brain. "I sincerely hope you're not going to rain on my parade... " "No... not maliciously, but it's my parade, too, Mulder. You did your own research on hot springs and thermal conditions, so you know this information as well as I do." "Not all the scientific stuff... and *you* know how it turns me on when you wax scientific." And then she feels his hand slide down into the water, tickling her ribs, sliding around to the front. Closing her eyes, she feels Mulder's fingers lift and stroke her breast, pull and tease her hardening nipple. At his touch, she inhales deeply. He leans over to kiss her throat, then cradles her chin with the other hand and guides her head to the side, towards him, where he can take her mouth. What great life-altering changes happen in a short period of time, she marvels. Hours earlier she was contemplating how to understand and fully trust this man. Now she's poised naked before him, her body preparing itself to receive him, welcoming and warming under his skillful attentions. If only... She breaks the kiss, hoping he understands what's at stake here. Mulder in a headstrong, obsessive state is difficult enough to turn aside. However, she's never before experienced a Mulder inflamed and blinded by passion, so is not exactly sure what she's dealing with. Turning around to face him, she finds that shadows obscure his face, increasing her sudden anxiety. "Are we clear on this, Mulder? We can always wait... " His lips brush over hers, silencing her. "Not on your life. I want you to relax, Scully... because now I get to show you how well I can improvise." And he pulls her toward him as he sits back on the underwater ledge. His gentleness surprises her. The way he takes possession of her body, bold in his tactile investigation of it, does not. No permission is requested; his hand simply glides over her skin with the confidence and authority of ownership and she allows it. The heat of the water intensifies the fire left by his touch. She savors each precious moment, delights in the relentless hunger of his hands and mouth as she floats within his embrace. Tracing the contours of her body under the water, his hand moves over her back and waist. She trusts the inexorable journey his fingers make as they blaze a new trail on her skin. Moving again to her front, they ripple over her breasts, light as bubbles against them before continuing on. With tenderness his hands part her thighs and suddenly she feels it, with a shiver of desire. Mulder's touch between her legs. Soft, not invasive, he rests there. Her thigh muscles tighten with expectation and she breathes heavily, leaning forward to press her lips against his neck. "Easy, Scully... " he whispers into her ear. "Easy now... " His hand is still busy, large and greedy, sliding down to cup her bottom and stroke its roundness, then moving up again to grasp the flaring curve of her hipbone. Another hand presses on the small of her back. She is held immobile, positioned within his grasp by the strength of these dual caresses. Now she's able to identify, for the first time, that part of him pressing itself to her. A wave of arousal grips her as she realizes that this contact is the most intimate they've ever shared. "Mulder... " she gasps. His fingers tighten on her lower body in response. "Shhhh... Take it slow... " The smooth underside of his cock, not his hand, has been resting against her folds. He moves himself gently, creating a tempo, up and down, in the swollen nest of her vulva. Each upward movement skims her clitoris with an almost painful sweetness, stealing her breath, as Mulder's hands guide her hips. The motion is effortless, gentle and repetitive. There are inches of space between them in order to maintain the precious angle required. She clutches his shoulders and upper arms for balance, and then reaches down into the water to hold him in place against her own heat when he slips, to maintain the pressure. Suspended in the water, they kiss and stroke and whisper. "God, Scully... " "Yesss... " "Care-ful. Yeah... outside... " She knows he won't enter her in this spring-fed water, since imprudence will reap consequences later. For now, the rubbing of his sex against hers, the hot wetness of his mouth and tongue, are enough to propel her towards sweet release as waves of pleasure build and radiate from their common touchpoint. "Mulder, harder... please... " "OK, OK... " He laughs deep in his throat at her urgency. His hands pull her closer, to increase the rocking pressure of their most tender parts until, like the explosive venting of a geyser, she climaxes, shuddering in spasms against him. As the intensity of her orgasm subsides, she feels Mulder's flesh harden and jerk under her hand. He follows her, groaning, letting his semen dissolve into the dark currents of the pool around them... This must be what a miracle feels like, she muses afterward as she straddles Mulder's lap like a limp, open book, thighs wide apart. This is trust and peace of the most intimate kind, to press her bare breasts against him, hair spread like a veil over his shoulder. She feels the glide of his fingers from back to buttocks, moving in and out of the water. He murmurs disjointed words of love into her ear. Moving slightly within his arms, she re-submerges her cooling shoulder into the water's warmth. Nuzzling her face into Mulder's neck, she whispers, "I think this is it." "What? The hot bath I promised you?" He presses his lips against her cheek, holds her tighter. "No, the X-File, Mulder. You were right... these *are* the healing waters." Now he's intrigued enough to push her back so he can watch the moonlight touch and illuminate her eyes. "What makes you say that?" "They have to be... for me to feel the way I do. And you. For us to be here, like this." And leaning over him, she closes his eyes with tender fingers. When she kisses him, it's a gentle benediction. *************** It was just a short month ago that she woke alone to the green ripple and shimmer of water in the night. She closes her eyes to recapture the scene, but now it eludes her, remains hazy and dream-like. The distortions in the fish tank are gone, the pillow-pattern on her cheek replaced by the soft fuzz of Mulder's chest hair. His arms are better than any blanket. And she realizes they can share a bed and a miracle anywhere... even floating under the stars in a healing spring. With a sleepy smile, Mulder responds to her thoughts, pulling her body so close to him they are molded as one in the water's warmth. His lips pressed to her ear, she hears his soft whisper, feels the strength of his embrace. "You're not alone. I happen to believe in miracles, too, Scully... " *********** THE END May 26, 2000 AUTHOR'S NOTES: My thank you and acknowledgement to Robert Todd Carroll, in providing astute and valuable definitions for both Scully and Mulder's use in this story.