From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: For Everything There is a Season 1/3 Date: 26 Nov 1995 15:53:31 -0500 Ok, this is for all Romantics and angst lovers and those who want a what happens if Mulder gets a girlfriend story. I love e-mail. Let me know what you think. FOR EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON (1/3) By S. Esty (AKA WINDSINGER) begun 7/26/95 sent to EMXC 11/13/95 Teaser: Years after they had gone their separate ways, Mulder and Scully meet once again at Dana's husband's funeral. Hey, you all know where this is going but this is a little different and the joy and the sadness is in the journey. A poignant coming apart and coming together. Romance, Romance, Romance, Romance. I'm not going to try to admit that its anything else. GP-13. No violence, no explicit sex, no ghosts this time (at least none of them having speaking parts), more pathos from Windsinger. Brits, this one's OK for you. Author's notes: Since there has been a lot of discussion about Mulder's getting a little 'friend', I thought this was a good time to post this one. Amazingly, this was written largely in July, way before there was any talk of CC giving Mulder a little 'friend'. Scinut on EMXC can vouch for me on that. I sent it to EMXC and then asked her not to post it because I started writing Lady and the Tiger with Steph which had some similar elements and there were other stories coming out that also had similar elements or styles. There have been even more since, especially 'Sleeper' by Yvonne Harrison and 'Renewal' by Amy Vincent both of which I highly recommend, but the similar ideas are coincidence. We are all writing in a very small universe here. Disclaimer: As always to CC and company for these marvelous characters and Gillian and David and all the X-Files fanfic writers for inspiration. No stepping on toes intended. FOR EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON by Windsinger Chapter 1 Baltimore, Maryland October 2004 Dana Scully Thompson looked over the top of her husband's casket to find herself staring into Fox Mulder's eyes. Oh, she could still lose herself in those eyes. Even though the skin around them was creased with years and care, they still looked beautiful to her. Their expression today, however, was even more sad than usual. The gloom was not because Mulder had known Peter Thompson well. Mulder had been too wrapped up in his own affairs during the good years to get to know the man who married his one time partner. No, Mulder had to be thinking about Cathy, this funeral reminding him of hers. How many years ago now? Four? Dana had loved Peter Thompson but she had Mulder to thank for her being able to love him. Being with Fox had taught her the meaning of love, also taught her that holding back gained you nothing. Only after Mulder had moved away from her had Dana finally been able to admit to herself that she had been in love with her intense, long-limbed partner. Only too late did she realize that she had been waiting for him. No, she had to be fair, both had been waiting for circumstances to change so that they could try for something more than their partnership - wonderful, special, and amazing as it was. But case followed case, and the pressure, the danger, was always too great. There was always the fear, always the barrier and neither were willing to give up the job, to give up the ability to be with each other, day in, day out, for something that might not work out. And then there was the very basic fact that they desperately needed each other during those years just to survive. The time never seemed right. Or did the right time simply slip them by unnoticed on a night between a liverwurst sandwich and a root beer? The argument was mute, anyway. Mulder met Cathy. Cathy Haines worked for the CIA. She was very intelligent, very good, very committed, very nuts. Mulder's equal in a spook suit and a very well-endowed spook suit, too. Cathy was outrageous and beautiful. Dana heard only years later that she and Mulder had been assigned to work with Cathy and her partner on this New York case specifically so their mutual acquaintances could place bets and watch the fireworks. And fireworks there were. *** New York City April 1996 Dana Scully watched her partner pace, up and down, up and down the hotel room. "Mulder, you are making me dizzy." He hadn't heard. There was fire in his eyes. "Haines is going to get us killed!" he swore continuing to pace, running his hand through his hair till it stood on end. "Taking off like that. She could have scared off Markson and his little gang and, if she has, it will take more than the combined efforts of this alphabet soup of ours to run them to ground again. I don't even know why we were sent here. This is no X-File." He spun on Dana's patiently waiting form. "And who the hell does she think she is anyway? And what makes her think that she's senior officer on this investigation?" "We need to learn to work together," Dana sighed, knowing her words were falling on deaf ears. "Well, she's a prima donna and irresponsible! I've already sent one complaint to her superiors. She jumps in with no plan, no backup. Her theories have no foundation. She doesn't study the problem in any depth, just rushes in, to who knows what kind of situation and expects us to pull her butt out." Dana mused. "I think her ideas have some merit, Mulder. So do yours, so do mine and her partner's. We need to sit down calmly in the morning and look at this drug problem from all angles. We need to build on our strengths. You two yelling at each other all day will get us no where." Mulder grumbled, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. His shirt sleeves were already rolled up. Dana could detect signs of a long night ahead. He picked up a stack of documents and scanned them, his eyes flitting like fireflies. "Were we that loud?" he asked, petulantly. "I thought New York's finest were going to throw us out of their precinct house for disorderly conduct. For a while there I thought we were in the tenements. Where did your mother teach you such language, Mulder?" He smiled wanly. "That's school yard stuff, Scully. Those Catholic schools your parents sent you to slighted your education. Anyway, Haines started it." Dana rose from where she had been sitting on his bed, very weary. Keeping those two apart, and on a topic which had something remotely to do with the case, had been exhausting. "You don't have to stoop to her level, Mulder. She's gotten her reputation by intimidating people. Something, you, of course, know nothing about." She headed to the door. "I'm tired. I'm going to get a soda and then go to bed. You want anything?" She sent him a slow, fond look. "I think I saw a Lipton's." But Mulder was concentrating and waved her off. Dana smiled and headed down the hall towards the floor's elevators where she had seen some vending machines. Just as she reached the end of the hall the elevator doors opened and Cathy Haines stepped out. She had changed from her business suit into a red button-down shirt which she wore with fresh, moist matching lipstick. The shirt was tucked into tight jeans that left nothing to the imagination. Dana had to admit, Agent Haines certainly had a figure men would die for. Dana just hoped that she and Mulder and the woman's partner did not have to take the fall for Cathy's excessively dangerous methods. "Dana? Hi," Cathy said in friendly greeting. "I had some new ideas and I came up to see if you two were still awake and felt like kicking them around." Dana yawned. Hearing Mulder and Cathy fight was the last thing she wanted at the moment. "Mulder's awake, I am not. Bother him if you want, but keep it down, will you? I want to get some sleep tonight." Cathy smiled good naturedly. "I can take a hint. I guess we were pretty loud. Mulder's so much fun to fight with though. I had three brothers. I learned to fight early." Dana thought. "He's so inventive with his words," Cathy was going on. Her voice lowered conspiratorially. "Is he as inventive with other things?" the tall, blond asked, her eyes twinkling in girlish anticipation for some good gossip. Despite herself, Dana found herself smiling. When she wanted, Cathy Haines's good humor was infectious. "I wouldn't know. We don't do that sort of thing." "Oh, sorry," Cathy apologized, disappointed. "I just assumed." Then she did not seem so disappointed after all and headed off down the hallway, hips swinging in a natural, unaffected rhythm. Dana watched her knock at Mulder's door, saw the door open, heard Mulder's voice, obviously surprised to see her. He let her in, then closed the door. Soda in hand, yawning, Dana headed back to her own room, decided she did not want the soda after all, climbed into her pajamas and fell instantly asleep. Dana stared blearily at the clock. Just after two am. She lay for a second, knowing in her bones that something must have awakened her. In a moment she heard it again. A thump, a moan, muffled cries from the room next door. Mulder's room. With a sigh, Dana pulled herself out of bed. Nightmares again. She should have expected it. That damn woman! Tense cases almost always brought on the nightmares. Dana knew the routine. She would go in his room, wake him as gently as she could, if he was not already awake, wrap him in a blanket, hold him until the shudders passed. Then she would get him a glass of water and two ibuprophen. The mild muscle relaxants in the pain killer relieved the tension in the tight muscles, made it easier for him to get back to something like sleep and make him less achy - and less bitchy - the next day. Groggily, Dana collected the pills from her overnight bag, and, after knocking softly and getting no response, which she did not expect since he was probably still asleep, walked into his room through their unlocked connecting door. By the blue light of the silent TV, Dana expected to see him thrashing about in his sheets. She had also expected him to be alone. Taking in immediately what was going on, Dana ducked, coloring, back into her room but not before she heard a woman's low laugh and a rough "Shit!" from her partner. Ten minutes later a soft knock came from the opposite side of the connecting door. Dana was curled up in the chair by the window as far from Mulder's room and its noises as she could get. All the lights were on and she was trying to read some cases. Mulder walked in wearing those damned, black silk boxers. Dana looked up and caught her breath. He had never looked so beautiful to her as he did at that moment. His hair was a mess, but his eyes were as bright as diamonds and his skin positively glowed. Gone, at least for the moment, was the tense and depressed expression he seemed to wear all the time since Duane Barry, Alaska, and New Mexico. "Dana, I'm sorry -" he started, but from the tiny cat's-got- the-canary grin on his lips it was obvious he was not. "I'm sorry for interrupting, Mulder. I thought you were having a nightmare." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Wasn't a nightmare, was it?" He gave her a beguiling smile which sent chills through Dana's body and she realized she was jealous. Jealous of Cathy. Wishing it were her invigorating his body with this animal-like excitement. "No, it wasn't." There was an uncomfortable pause. "You all right?" Dana nodded weakly. "I'm fine. I'll just read some of these," she indicated the files, "to help me get back to sleep." He shuffled his bare feet looking all of about sixteen. "Well, I just wanted to check. See you in the morning, Scully." He turned but was caught by Dana's words, "Don't let this affect the job, okay, Mulder?" She looked at him troubled. Their work was dangerous, Cathy and her partner unknown elements, Cathy a live wire. "I won't," he assured her, knowing what she meant, but he could not duck back into his room fast enough. Though he tried not to be too obvious about it, Dana heard him quietly throw the dead bolt on his side of the door. Over the next forty-eight hours, both Mulder and Cathy behaved erratically, but, all in all, not so differently from their first day. Their fights during the work day could be heard two buildings away - ideological stalemates and posturing on a grand scale - followed by other kinds of noises in the night that could be heard floors away. Dana knew. She slept next door. As the days passed and the tension surrounding the case became worse, their disagreements increased in intensity, only there was a difference. It was in their eyes. Dana rationalized, But that was not how it happened. On the fifth night, the four of them crept towards a warehouse that informants hinted was the location of a major drug manufacturing operation. The four agents should have been able to take the place by surprise, but the dealers were ready for them. Just as they came within ten yards of the main loading dock, the entire front of the building exploded with a tremendous rush of air and heat and sound like a hundred cannons exploding in their faces. All four were thrown back at least forty or fifty feet. Dana knew she blacked out for a few minutes. Her ears were ringing so badly that when she came to she could scarcely hear the roar of the fire even though it was close. Nor could she hear the sirens coming until much later. What she could feel, however, was the flame's heat and her whole body which ached from where she had been thrown up against a pile of wooden crates. How pleasant it felt just to lie there, the raging fire just a glow on the horizon. Dana considered going back into the dark, but a thought sprang into her head. She shouted his name. Despite the pain, she found her feet and shouted again though she knew her voice was weak and shaky and sounded odd in her ears. The sound probably did not travel very far, either. Where was he? His mass was much heavier. He would not have been thrown so far. she prayed and hoped he had been thrown clear. Then she saw a man-sized crumpled heap closer to the fire and ran to it, but she found, not Mulder, but Cathy's partner, just coming around. Her hand on Johnson's shoulder, Dana looked frantically around, and finally she saw the silhouette of a trim female figure sitting on the ground holding her head and another silhouette of a lanky man crouched by her side, obviously checking her condition. Dana's stomach twisted and sank, knew she was being irrational, but could not help herself. Mulder had gone to Cathy's aid before coming to her own. The explosion destroyed the evidence and closed down the manufacturing operation, so the case was filed as being successfully concluded, even though the organizers undoubtedly escaped to set up elsewhere. The word, however, had gotten out about Cathy and Mulder. They would never be assigned to the same case again - not that that kept them apart. Most would say Cathy and Mulder were perfect for each other. Both were driven, obsessive work-a-holics with intense passionate natures that bordered on the manic-depressive. Both just needed to explode from time to time. Luckily, when one was having a bad day the other was usually around to blow away the doldrums. Dana made the mistake, however, of walking into the X-Files office one night when both were 'down'. Not a pretty sight. She wondered if they had managed to achieve that particular shade of purple from screaming at each other, drinking too much, or both. When both were high, they were insane. Dana had no doubt that all she heard was true - bungy jumping, rock climbing, sky diving, hang gliding. And those were their tame diversions. As if their jobs were not hazardous enough. And much to Dana's surprise Mulder kept amazing healthy through it all. Fortunately, for both the FBI and the CIA, Cathy had to travel a lot overseas, so Mulder was able to pay at least some attention to his job. Once she hit town, however, Mulder was useless. Scully considered herself lucky if he was able to drag his well-strung ass into work by noon the day after Cathy returned from one of her assignments. Dana was silent through it all. Tried to understand. She never thought he would withdraw himself from her like this. Mulder had had some horrible years, however. During the nearly three years they had worked together, she had never known him to take a vacation and she knew the years before, when he was assigned full time to the VCS, had been so bad that the X-Files seemed like a vacation to him in comparison. The dangers they had faced, the ridicule, the betrayals, the nightmares, the insomnia, the too many times they had both nearly died. All had taken their toll. How could she blame him for taking a break. In time he would come back to her and their work. But a year passed and Dana began to seriously wonder if Mulder was coming back. The X-Files began to slip. All of his pet cases that were never officially assigned, those went first, but because he kept up with the special assignments from the VC group his reputation actually improved. He had become a regular Joe. Well, no, not exactly. Mulder could never be a regular Joe. He was still spooky, his logic still escaped close scrutiny, but he brought in the verdicts and that was what counted. The pressure from the Shadow people backed off. The search for Samantha kept on but at a slower pace. And Mulder was happy. Happier than Dana had ever seen him. She should have been pleased for him. She tried to be. Cathy, however, must have had money to burn, because she always seemed to be around, even when Agents Mulder and Scully were on assignment in Oklahoma or Oregon or Maine. While staying at odd little motels in the middle of the night, Dana would hear the sound of a door open in the room next to hers, then whispered voices, then no voices, then the unmistakable sounds of very energetic coupling. Very energetic. Mulder slept very well those years, but Dana didn't. Even the ear plugs would not help. And she was getting very, very lonely eating breakfast and often dinner alone on the road when Cathy was in the country and within flying distance. Then one hot, July evening, Mulder walked in front of a car. End of Chapter 1 =========================================================================== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: For Everything There is a Season 2/3 Date: 26 Nov 1995 15:53:42 -0500 FOR EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON 2/3 by Windsinger@aol.com Disclaimer: As always to CC and company for these marvelous characters and Gillian and David and all the X-Files fanfic writers for inspiration. No stepping on toes intended. Chapter 2 Washington, D.C. July 1998 Dana stood on the corner of the dingy street and sent Mulder a look of shared sympathy. This was definitely one of their least favorite assignments. The President of the United States was hosting a major international trade conference so every law enforcement official the State Department could get their hands on were assigned to assist the Secret Service. So far that day, Agents Scully and Mulder had helped in sweeping what were considered the critical areas - the meeting location and the route of the motorcade. If the weather was good, such duty might be considered a vacation. If the weather was bad, like now, it was drudgery. Tonight it was hot and sticky, typical Washington in August. Wet blanket weather. No wonder that before the advent of air conditioning the government would shut down in the summer. They had been assigned to patrol the back streets near one of the hotels where some of the minor delegates would be staying. These must be VERY minor delegates to be housed way out here in the less than savory part of town, Dana thought. The agents were dressed casually in jeans, inexpensive athletic shoes and cheap black jackets , but they were well aware that they still stuck out like light bulbs in this neighborhood at night. Hot, humid nights always sent the residents out to prowl and tempers were often high, but, at least tonight, not abnormally so. This was fortunate because the two agents knew they were not here to do anything about maintaining the tense truce the street gangs seemed to be holding. They were after bigger fish. Still, when a woman screamed, Mulder moved into action. That was just part of his nature. Dana drew her gun carefully but kept it out of sight and followed some distance back to keep a wider view of the disturbance. A large, heavy-set man had taken the arm of a wiry woman, probably his wife or girl friend and the woman wanted none of it. Unfortunately, there were at least three boom boxes blaring out at full volume so there no one way Dana or Mulder could understand what the couple were arguing to each other about. It was amazing that the woman's scream had cut though the noise at all. This had all the ear marks of a simple domestic squabble but best to be prepared. Mulder was concentrating on the woman who, by the way, was doing a very, very credible job of defending herself against her much larger companion - when he stepped into the street. At that moment a car, moving amazingly fast for this narrow street which was little more than an alley, careened around the corner, tires squealing. Dana cried out a warning, but Mulder could never have heard. Besides the distraction of the booming, throbbing noise from the mini-woofers, he had had a long, hot, unexciting day and his timing was off, his reaction time slow. He probably felt the car's rumble through the soles of his feet before he heard it, and hesitated a second too long before leaping aside. The whipping rear end of the vehicle, which the driver had only barely under control, caught Mulder in the hip and sent him flying, spinning at a sickening velocity, to be thrown with a painful thump and a crack against a parked car. The speeding vehicle was gone as quickly as it had appeared and all noise on the block - the blasts of sound from the boom boxes, the screams of the woman, the laughing jeering voices of the gangs of teens - suddenly ceased as Mulder slid bonelessly to the ground. As she ran to his side, Dana replaced her gun in order to pull out her cellular to call 911. She was almost amused to see three other cellulars pulled out of expensive leather jackets at almost the same time to make the same call. Mulder groaned. His face was filled with pain but also embarrassment. "Stupid, stupid," he was muttering as she knelt down beside him. "Get the license number of that train, Scully?" His face was the color of paste in the halogen street lights except where the blood was running down from a cut above his eye. Dana knew that looked far worse than it was. The fact that he was not only conscious, but coherent, was a good sign. Before she could even take her own jacket off to cover him, two women came out of apartments nearby bringing blankets. Dana nodded to them in gratitude. She covered him with one and put the other gently under his head. In frustration, Mulder tried to move which only sent a shooting, blinding pain up his entire left side. "Don't do that," she warned in her level, soothing voice as his teeth clenched down tight and he went even paler than he had been before. "You know the drill, Mulder." "Yeah, yeah." He tried to lie still as they waited for the paramedics, but it was obvious he was very uncomfortable. Something was definitely not right. "Damn, I think I broke my arm." She looked at the way he was holding one leg. "At least that, Mulder. You're lucky you didn't break your head... permanently." They could hear the sirens coming closer. Only a few moments more. The buzz of the significant crowd was all around them, but for Fox and Dana they could just as easily have been alone. His dark eyes, dilated from the pain and shock, sought hers. "I'm sorry, Scully. Guess you have to pick up Humpty Dumpty and put him back together again." "Not this time, Mulder," she said, not letting her voice betray her relief that he was not injured more severely. He could easily have been killed. "We're not in the wilds of Montana so you don't have to rely on Agent Scully's Doc-in-a-Box remedies. We're going to take you to an honest-to-goodness hospital. GW is just down the street. Do you still have a running tab there?" "Probably," Mulder admitted grumpily. "Think they'll give me my old room?" Absently, she brushed the blood matted hair out of his eyes. "Maybe if you ask very, very nicely, which I know you can do," she replied sarcastically. The rescue squad's lights began to strobe over them, alternating red and white. Mulder reached out with his good arm and touched her shoulder. "Scully," he asked a little awkwardly, "could you call Cathy for me? I don't think I'm going to make it home for a while and I don't want her to worry." Dana found a reason to look away and down the cracked, pot- holed Washington street for a moment. The sweat trickled down both their faces. She had been so scared for him and had felt, for a moment, their old closeness back again. But he had ruined that, had known what he was asking, but Dana knew he was not completely insensitive. He was careful not to mention Cathy's name around the office, and never discussed the feelings he had for his wild, blond bed mate any more than he had ever discussed his feelings for Dana Scully. They just were. Finally she turned back, her face composed. "Sure, Mulder," she promised, "if you are a good boy and do what the doctors tell you." "Yes, Ma'am," he smiled gratefully as the paramedics came forward with the backboard. Dana thought, as she set in George Washington Hospital's Emergency room. By this time, she knew all the nurses by sight, if not by name, and most of the doctors. She knew where the best carry-outs were within walking distance and what day of the week they served meat loaf in the cafeteria. As she flipped through the ancient copy of 'People' magazine, Dana considered ordering a subscription of 'Newsweek' for the waiting room. At least then there would be something decent to read. From where she was sitting on one of the chairs which were lined up outside the row of curtain-draped cubicles, she could hear Mulder swearing as the doctor examined him. She knew it hurt and she reminded herself to congratulate him on keeping the show 'R' rated rather than 'X'. Suddenly, Dana heard running footsteps and a blond, pink and cream bomb burst around the corner of the hallway calling her name. Dana looked up at the disturbance. "Damn," Dana muttered under her breath. Cathy. The tall blond was wearing very short pink shorts, a matching halter top and lots of skin. Lots and lots of skin. Her blond hair was a huge, wild cloud of pale gold. "Dana, Dana, I got your message. Where is he? Is he all right?" the young woman was frantic. Dana's eyes widened. She had never seen the irrepressible Cathy Haines so distraught. It was an interesting character study. "He's banged himself up," Dana told her evenly, magazine still open on her lap. "As I said on the message I left on your answering machine, he got too close to 2000 pounds of steel going about ninety. Sprained ankle, broken arm. He'll live." Dana's eyes had drifted unconsciously to the curtained area on the left. Cathy hesitated, but when she heard the next colorful expression from the familiar voice she threw aside the curtains and stormed in. For the next few minutes Dana ashamedly listened with rapt attention and with no small degree of amusement to the little melodrama going on behind the curtain. Such crying and caterwauling from Cathy. You would think Mulder was going to die right there in the ER. And Mulder? Mulder was trying to calm this street tough CIA agent with sweet endearments the like of which Dana thought she would never, ever hear coming out of Fox Mulder's mouth. Then there was the soft words of the doctor trying to get Cathy to move out of the way so he could finish his examination. The physician's voice became harder and less patient as the minutes passed. Finally, the doctor emerged from behind the curtain. He was not one Dana had seen before on her visits. He was tall and good looking in a rugged, outdoors way with a few creases on his forehead and some laugh wrinkles around his eyes. Those eyes rolled in exasperation in the direction of the curtained alcove from which now issued the sounds of frantic smooching and sugary comments. Dana chuckled and the physician turned his attention to the serene and long-suffering Dana Scully ... and he smiled. Seeing she had his attention, and that he seemed to feel the same way she did about the goings on, Dana couldn't help but point a finger to her open mouth to indicate she thought she was going to gag. It was a silly gesture to make, not a Dana Scully thing to do, but she was frustrated by the antics, the whole situation. The constant hurt. She went back to her magazine. She only half listened as the physician conferred with the head nurse, ordering a cast for the arm, a heavy-duty muscle relaxant for the muscles spasms in Mulder's back and an air cast for the sprained ankle. Suddenly, the white-coated figure was sitting down on the chair beside Dana with a tired sigh. "Hello, I'm Dr. Thompson," he introduced himself, extending his hand. "You examined Agent Mulder at the scene?" Dana's took the hand, liking the feel of this man's warm handshake. "Agent Scully... Dana Scully." "The nurses seem to know the two of you pretty well. You're a Pathologist, they say. I'll tell you, I'm impressed. Your diagnosis was right on and without X-rays." "I know Mulder's body." she replied. "When I saw you sitting out here I thought you were his wife." Dana smiled broadly and wondered why she did that. She smiled so seldom these days. "I don't know his body THAT well. He's my partner." The doctor indicated the thick file in his lap. "I guess you HAVE had a lot of experience. His medical records are pretty extensive." "Don't I know. There have been times when I've wondered if I was hired specifically to be Mulder's personal physician." She was aware of a good-looking pair of man's eyes on her, and wished she wasn't wearing a cheap plastic jacket and old jeans and that her shoulder holster wasn't showing. "Taking care of Agent Mulder does sound like a full time job," the physician commented sympathetically, "but doesn't sound very exciting for you." "Oh, it can be VERY exciting." "That's not what I meant," he responded with a gleam in his eye. And so Dana Scully met Dr. Peter Thompson and that sparkle came back into her life. Peter was intelligent and caring, committed and energetic with a keen sense of humor. He made love in a gentle but wholly satisfying manner that left Dana breathless and eager for more of his warm embraces, more sensation from the electric glide of his fingertips. Within six months Dana asked for a transfer to Quantico. Mulder was clearly disappointed but approved the transfer. He understood. He had looked positively repentant the one time they talked about those two years from the time he met Cathy until Dana met Peter. He had known what he was doing to her, she who had been his best and only friend, shutting her out of his life, but had not been able to help himself. It had taken time but Dana had come to accept that love had a way of making one do some pretty strange things. A year after Agent Scully's departure, Mulder also quit working on the X-Files. Dana and Peter got married and Mulder moved in with Cathy. Actually, since that fateful assignment in New York, he had only used his apartment when Cathy was out of town and he was in town, something he tried to arrange not to happen too often. The fact that it took him so long to make even this move spoke to the volatility of their relationship. And there was still no talk of marriage. Cathy was a free spirit and did not want to be tied down. Not by anything, not even by Fox Mulder. **** Baltimore, Maryland October 2004 Dana said good-by to her mother at the cemetery and gave Margaret Scully assurances that she was fine and would come by that evening. When she turned, there he was again. Mulder looked terrible now that she could observe him closely. There was grey in his hair and his much-worn suit hung on him. The dark patches under his eyes, which she had not seen during the Cathy years, were back. Dana remembered the end of the Cathy years. *** Washington, D.C. June 2000 Dana stood outside the town house and checked the address again which was scrawled on a scrap of paper in Skinner's handwriting. The building looked so - ordinary. Not the sort of place where she expected to find Cathy Haines and Fox Mulder. Correction, she would only find Mulder there now. The word had come down while Dana was visiting the University of Southern California on a recruiting assignment. Cathy Haines had been killed while on assignment in South America, some botched job dealing with drug traffickers and petty dictators. Reliable sources reported that Mulder had closed himself off in this house and refused to speak to anyone. "He needs you, Agent Scully," Director Skinner said, worry obvious in his voice. "I can't think of anyone else he'll listen to." Sympathy, she knew how to give. She had given it to him before and when she had been in less of a condition to give it. In was deep dusk as Dana stood at the bottom of the steps. She took a long, slow breath, strengthening herself to face this man who at one time had been the most important person in her life and who, over time, had become almost a stranger. Almost. She could still feel Peter's lips on hers from the kiss he had given her before she left. "Take whatever time you need," she could hear him saying. "I'll manage." Without understanding - there was no way anyone besides she and Mulder ever could - Peter accepted that Fox Mulder, even in his absence, retained a very special place in Dana's life. Dana knocked, but there was no answer. She tried the door, it opened freely. "Mulder! It's Scully." There were no lights on. She took a few steps inside and could just see his form sitting in the dark living room. The only light was a fading rose glow from the remains of the sunset coming in through one of those sliding glass doors all modern townhouses have. "Mulder, can I turn on a light?" "What's the point?" came a voice which only resembled in small ways the voice she remembered. "There's nothing worth seeing." Dana had to pick her way through the debris on the floor to reach him. A neighbor had called the police and reported a disturbance, noise like a barroom brawl. Screaming, but from only one voice. And weeping. Just Mulder venting the anguish in his soul. Just Mulder giving physical expression to his agony. He had learned that from Cathy. Let it out. It had made him healthier but more volatile to be around when the bad times came. This was about as bad a time as there could be. He was lying on the couch, not his old one but one just like it, one arm flung over his eyes. He was dressed in a suit, the same one, from the look of it, he had been wearing when the CIA had called him with the news. They had dropped the bomb over the phone. What a sensitive bunch of jerks! As she approached, he struggled upright to make room for her but his eyes were not welcoming, just black pools of despair and loss. The violence of his grief and anger may be gone, but Dana knew this was just a temporary lull. For the moment he was exhausted. The anger would come back, the need to hurt something, anyone, the way he was hurting would come back when his batteries recharged. For the moment he had turned inward like he used to back in the VCS, like he used to when the X-files got bad. Lock it all away. Since he had trashed their home, their physical possessions, he had retreated to the inner world to destroy what was left - his heart, his hopes, his happiness. "Mulder, are you all right?" she asked, realizing too late what a stupid question it was. "She's gone, Scully," came his dead voice out of the darkness. His voice was rough, hoarse, as if he had shouted or cried it out. "And I can't even go to her. They are not letting anyone into the country." Dana sat beside him but did not touch him. "I know, Skinner told me. When they finish with the autopsy they'll bring her body back. Maybe in a couple of days. They'll let you know when you can see her." His head was moving side by side aimlessly, his eyes stared at the blank wall which once held a picture, now smashed, its subject matter unrecognizable. "She did something stupid, I know she did. She was always acting first and thinking later." A black smile touched his lips. "I seem to remember saying that to you the very first day I met her." He wrapped his arms around his knees and began rocking gently. His face raised to the last of the sunset showed no fresh tears, just old ones. He was all cried out, at least for now. She could see that on his face. There was only a dark wound full of pain. "You need to sleep, Mulder," she told him. "How long has it been?" "I don't know," came a small voice. "Can't sleep and I don't want to. I see, feel her. It's so lonely." He turned his grief- ravaged face towards his old friend. Her face smooth, sad but controlled, spoke to him of peace and strength and acceptance. "Scully, how did you bear it?. When I turned from you those years before Peter, how did you bear it?" His voice cracked at the end and Dana felt her eyes begin to burn and sting with her own tears, the ones she had never shed for him because he had withdrawn from her so softly. "You just do, Mulder," she told him as she opened her arms. And he crept inside the circle of her embrace like a little boy and somehow, despite his size, he seemed to fit. "You just do." As she stroked his hair, she felt the silent, tearless sobs begin in this man. How could she have ever thought of him as a stranger. The minutes passed. Neither was in a hurry. There was no where to go for him. For her? There was no denying he felt good to hold, so right. Four years had passed since she had held him during his nightmares, but, she realized with surprise, this time it felt different. There was no surge of hormones. Only tenderness, the love one feels towards a beloved child, or a brother. Love, yes, love overwhelming, sweet and painful, but not what it had been. She got a mild sedative from her bag and he took it without complaint. After he fell asleep in her arms, she laid him on the couch, covered him with a blanket and sat by his side. She had time and she had somewhere to go - into Peter's arms - and she would return to them when she was no longer needed here. For a week Dana sat with Mulder often, usually for hours at a time, with her mind turned off as he talked about Cathy. He needed to talk, he needed to remember, he needed someone to be there, he didn't need her to listen. She held his chill, damp hand and gave him sleeping pills or a sedative for an escape that didn't involve breaking the furniture or running himself into exhaustion. She helped him pack up his things from the townhouse. Cathy had never updated the simple will the CIA had required her to complete when she joined so Mulder was not mentioned. Everything went to her family. Her parents were in the State Department assigned overseas and would not come until the day of the funeral. Her brother who was local told Mulder he could have anything he wanted, but Mulder wanted nothing which had been hers except for a small memento or two. In the end there were so few of his things left. So little he wanted to keep. **** Dana saw him through the funeral. Helped him find a little apartment near his old one. Helped him as he listlessly unpacked. Then he disappeared. Six months later Mulder reappeared, dropping by her office at Quantico with a pizza for lunch, talked almost normally just as if nothing had happened. He was thinner, darker, more tired but, reportedly, was working. Had quit the Bureau and become a kind of freelance trouble shooter for weird stuff, some VC, some paranormal, some abduction cases. He had the reputation, the contacts, and the change gave him time, or so he said, to pursue his own interests. He told her he was still looking for Samantha, but Dana had a feeling the quest was just something to do. All of the work he did was just something to do. The light had gone out of his eyes. He worked because that was all he knew. Dana's marriage was a good one. She and Peter had a loving, respectful relationship. They both worked long hours but not so long that they did not make time for one another. During those years, only Mulder's continued unhappiness plagued Dana with a distant sadness. Three years after their marriage Peter had his accident. A drunk driver. Head injury. Irreversible coma. Nothing to be done. End of Chapter 2 =========================================================================== From: windsinger@aol.com (Windsinger) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: For Everything There is a Season 3/3 Date: 26 Nov 1995 15:53:49 -0500 Did I remember the '2/3' in the title of the last post? If I didn't that's what it was. FOR EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON (3/3) By Windsinger@aol.com Disclaimer: As always to CC and company for these marvelous characters and Gillian and David and all the X-Files fanfic writers for inspiration. No stepping on toes intended. Chapter 3 Northern Virginia August 2002 Dana never could remember how many days she lived at the hospital. Day and night fused into one, broken only by reports from yet another surgery. The news was always bad. She slept on a cot beside her husband's bed when she could no longer hold her head up as she kept watch and prayed for the impossible - for Peter to wake up and smile at her. She watched and with acceptance saw was the gradual, horrible unraveling of all their dreams. When she finally forced her nerveless body up the sidewalk which led to her the house she and Peter had shared, Dana saw him standing beside her door, Mulder, a tower of dark light to illuminate her greater darkness. She wondered later how many days he had kept his lonely vigil waiting for her to come home. They did not speak much, at least not in words. There was no need. They had years of experience taking care of each other. Mulder led her to the kitchen, gave her tea and a sandwich and stood over her while she forced down a few bites. In the bedroom he took her shoes off for her, helped her undress and get into pajamas when her mind and her fingers faltered and then wrapped himself in a blanket and slept on the floor beside her bed to keep away the bad dreams. Mulder appeared at her door often those first weeks, always within a few minutes after she returned home from the hospital, whenever that might be. He came with a pizza and a shoulder to cry on. He did that again and again, sleeping on the floor beside her bed or on her couch. And he was always gone in the morning. As life became routine, Mulder came less often, no longer slept over and left after the pizza or the video was over. But he would appear out of the blue every few weeks or months. Never more than two months went by without a visit. He never called but then Dana was almost always home except when she was at work or when she went to the hospital to watch Peter become thinner and more twisted as the rigor in his muscles and his joints increased. At those times when she had to be away for a few days, she always left a number where she could be reached with her answering service, just in case either of them needed her. **** Washington, D.C. October 2004 Those years took a lot out of her, too, Dana thought, pondering Mulder's appearance as he stood looking at her in her mourning clothes. Splitting her time between the hospital and her job, left very little time or energy for anything else. She and Mulder must look like they were cut from the same cloth now. Worn down by life. "Want to go out for pizza?" his beautiful, deep voice quietly asked. She nodded. He put his hand behind her back as he used to do so many years before, almost as if he were leading her in a dance, and guided her to her car. The restaurant he took her to was one they frequented back in the old X-Files days, a little Mom and Pop place with plastic red and white checked table cloths. Nothing had changed. "I'm sorry about Peter," he told her over an untasted glass of wine. "He was a good man and good men shouldn't have to suffer like that." "He didn't suffer," Dana told him dry-eyed. "Not since that night two years ago." "Good women shouldn't have to suffer either." Mulder stared at his pizza. "I'm sorry there weren't any children, Scully. I know you and Peter wanted children." Now Dana felt her nose getting stuffy. Trust Mulder to get her crying when nothing else had all day. She and Peter had lost a child a year before his accident. They had grieved, picked up the pieces of their lives and moved on. They were fertile, that wasn't the problem, and they told themselves that certainly the next time the odds would be in their favor. And they had been trying, doing the temperature bit, tracking the cycles, calling each other home in the middle of the day to do the 'dirty' deed... then time had run out. Dana wondered why Mulder had brought that up and then she remembered, wondered how she could have forgotten. *** Washington, D.C. July 15 1999 Ragged out from the sweltering July day, Dana staggered through her front door. She stopped only long enough to turn down the thermostat on the air conditioner before heading for the bedroom and collapsing across the bed she and Peter had shared continuously now for more than eighteen months. Dana tried to tell herself that she was recovered, that it was just the awful commute in the heat and humidity from her job at Georgetown Hospital which had sapped her strength so. But there was more, there was much more. The bed made her think of what they did here when they were not sleeping, and that made her think of Peter and how empty the evening and the night would be without him. That was part of her uneasiness. But not all of it. Peter had gone to Seattle to attend an Emergency Medicine conference. He had been gone two days and would be gone another two. Coming home a little early so that they would have some time to say good bye, they had lain curled together naked in the heat, glad to be rid of the sticky, constricting business clothes, and both too worn out to do anything more than hold hands. Only an hour remained before he had to leave to catch his plane, and for the hundredth time he asked if she would rather he stayed home, considering what she had been through. He was the lead speaker for one of the sessions, however, and Dana would not let any husband of hers back out of a commitment because he wife was a little depressed. With her eyes clear, her breathing steady, Dana was determined to send him off convinced that she was fine. She began by scratching his chin through his thick, well-trimmed beard, then worked her fingers in between the buttons of his shirt to stoke the firm, strong chest. As he took her in his arms his eyes had alighted with pleasure and relief for since she had gotten out of the hospital he had been waiting for a sign from her that she was ready. What Dana found was that she was more than ready and so was he and in the love-making that followed, more passionate than any they had yet shared, they both poured out not only their love but their shared grief. Dana laid on her stomach on the cooling bed, her cheek against the soft bedspread and wondered if there was a new child started in her. Probably not, not yet but maybe. And would this child be like the other? Would it come forth no larger than her own small hand, incomplete to too many ways, take two feeble breaths and fade in a whisper to a tiny, still corpse? Dana knew the odds. They each carried the lethal gene. No alien magic, just human genetics and statistics. "You're my one in a million," Peter had told her as she sat in his lap in the big chair in her hospital room, his voice rough with his hours of tears. "And you're mine," she admitted through her own. Those were the chances that two people each carrying the rare recessive trait would meet and marry. And only a one and four chance that a child conceived by them would get a matched set of the defective chromosomes and a sentence of such an early death. "We've beaten the odds, Sweet. Maybe after this we should go to Las Vegas." She had put her finger to his lips. She knew he was trying to help, but it was not helping. Nothing helped. Now a month later and she had no idea where she was in her cycle so there was a chance she had conceived again. Not much, but enough to hope. Hope was all she had ever asked for. It had carried her far. There were years when she would have said that hope had carried THEM far, meaning she and Mulder, but that had become just her now, too afraid that thinking of 'them' would automatically include Mulder. But that was changing, she could sense that in herself, in the way she had come to turn toward's Peter's light the way she use to turn toward's Mulder's. Dana raised her head. A odd pounding seemed to be coming from the front door, pounding not knocking, but not too loud. She rolled off the bed and went to the door. A glance through the security hole showed the top of a bowed head of sweaty, wind-blown brown hair. Surprised, for she had not seen him in months, she swung wide the door. Mulder. He was slouched against the pillar beside the door, but was not still, his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his lungs sounded far more congested than they should have. Swollen eyes raised to lock onto hers, desperate for something but she knew not what. The muscles of his face worked, all pain and grief. He dripped from the humidity of the horrible summer day. His suit was darkly splotched and he smelled strongly of wet wool and male sweat. He had run to her from somewhere, in this heat, in his suit and in those heavy wingtips he wore for work. "Mulder, what's wrong?" But he did not move, as if afraid that he would not be welcome. He had not been to her new home, she didn't even realize he knew where it was. Dana reached out and took his limp, wet hand and led him in. At the touch of her hand so tender, so gentle with caring, his knees had given out. As he crumbled from the exertion and some horrible grief, she had to catch him. Bowed under his greater weight, she led him to the couch, the same one, she noted, where he had slept many a night away years before. She doubted he noticed, however. There were no tears, not like she expected. The water dripped off his face, and if not all was sweat, his crying was silent. Instead it was all inside, but so close to the surface he was afraid to speak. Dana had never seen hopelessness on his face like this. Not knowing what else to do, Dana got him a box of tissues, a cool wet towel and a glass of water and sat close to where he leaned over his knees, his body trembling, face in his hands in that silence that was no silence. Gradually, his gasps relaxed to smaller whimpers between trembling lips and he reached out for her hands and his wet, red eyes so full of grief looked into hers. "Try Mulder. Try to tell me what's wrong" "S-She lied." He swallowed hard. His eyes, which stared into empty air, were full of not anger, just infinite sadness. "She went to a clinic last week," he began his voice tight, the words barely recognizable. "Scully, she told them she wasn't married. Well, that's true, but she also told them that she had been raped and didn't know by who." Mulder raised his ravaged face to see comprehension dawn on Dana's drawn features. "No." Oh, God, she didn't. The realization of what Cathy had done threw Dana back into her own black despair. She had watched Peter, their dying child in his gloved hands, his grief-stricken eyes staring helplessly over his mask at her as she lay emotionally and physically drained to exhaustion on the birthing bed. And Cathy had done this. Dana knew there were reasons, good reasons, she was no pro-lifer, but the coincidences were such that the pain was just unbearable. And what she had seen in Peter's eyes she now saw in Mulder's. "She had them take it, Dana. Her baby, OUR baby, mine." Somehow Dana knew this would come, had wished the woman had more sense and had been more careful. She knew how it was with Cathy well enough, no strings, no attachments, no plans for the future. Only the here and now." Dana felt her empty womb cramping within her in sorrow. Mulder did not know about her loss, hers and Peter's and she had not intended to tell him. She certainly would not tell him now. Dana could think of nothing to say. What comfort could she give, she who needed comfort herself? So she just let him squeeze her hand and hoped he would not break any bones. "How could she do that, Scully? HOW?" his voice rose thin and plaintive. "She owed me at least that much, didn't she? I never knew! I had to find out about it from a damn bill!" Dana was unable to keep from looking at those dead eyes. In addition to the baby that would never be, the part of Mulder that would never be, Cathy had turned her back on him. Said as plainly as day that, love her though he may, he did not hold her. Never would. Without ever giving him a chance she had done what she wanted as if what he wanted was of no significance, as if he did not have heart to break, as if she did not know or care that he loved her, that she was everything to him and yet a stranger. "Was she afraid you would make her keep it?" Dana asked softly. "Is that why she didn't tell you?" Mulder stopped to stare at her, the damp towel in his hand which he had been using to wipe the sweat and tears from this face. "Scully, I'm not a monster," he told her, slowly shaking his head. "You know there is no way I could have MADE her keep it, short of taking her to court and that would have killed everything." "Then she must have been afraid, afraid that if she gave you the chance, the time, that you could have convinced her." So Cathy was afraid he might have a hold on her after all. Mulder gaped at her, his breathing still not normal but coming in little gulps. She saw a flicker touch his eyes. "I hadn't thought -" The muscles in his face contracted as he forced back the wave of deeper grief. Somehow the fact that he might have been close made it worse. "Certainly I would have tried. Maybe we could have gotten a surrogate -" "Long before she could possibly have known she was pregnant, it was too late for that, Mulder," she reminded him gently. He ran a shaking hand through his damp hair. "I knew that. I'm sorry. I'm not thinking straight. Then maybe she could have just carried it, I wouldn't have made her keep it." Surprised by the frenzy in his voice, Dana stared at him, shocked by the disturbing depth of his love for this woman. He wanted so much but was willing to settle for so little. Was this love? Or a relationship based on fear, fear of losing what they had, all he had. "Mulder, you would have put the baby up for adoption? You would have done that to yourself for her?" "Better that then - " The unnatural color that had been in his face from the running had drained away leaving him very pale. "When I found out, I had to run, had to do something - find you. While I was running I thought that maybe next time, maybe next time someone I knew would take it and love it for me." His voice was shaking so, Dana could hardly understand him. "Someone I knew so I could be a part of its life a little." He rubbed his eyes with one hand then turned to her slightly. "Dana, I know I don't have any right to ask this, but you're the only one I know, the only one I really trust. It's too late now, but if this happens again would you and Peter consider..." He did not finish, but looked down at his empty hands and swallowed convulsively. Dana sat absolutely still. "Consider what, Mulder?" she asked fearfully. Fearfully because she already knew what he was trying to say. "If this should happen again, if Cathy would agree... would you -" Dana closed her eyes. "Oh, Mulder..." "She, or he, wouldn't ever have to know who her real parents were," he pleaded, speaking hastily while she still let him. "If I could just see her sometimes..." The tears finally began, but he swallowed them down fiercely. "This is stupid. It's selfish," he hissed angrily in a rough shaking voice, "I know... not fair to Peter, or to you..." He put his hands over his face again and bowed so low his head was on knees. And he cried and Dana rested her arm across his broad back and rested her cheek against his shoulder. If it didn't work next time Peter had told her they would start thinking about adoption. But Mulder's baby? Just the thought made her dizzy, made the tears for her own loss begin again mingled with the tears for his. But the question, she never answered. He knew her answer already. She had walked through fire for him, if need be she would do this for him and it would not be like fire at all. They did not talk much. There was no need. All the old trust and comfort in each other's company had come back. When the tears had dried for both of them, leaving stiff tracks on checks and eyes burning, both knew it was time to go. This was far too much like old times and neither could afford to look too closely. Dana pushed him to his feet, led him to the door and sent him home to confront Cathy. With a weak smile of gratitude and without a backwards glance, he went, for he knew who Cathy was, had known who she was and ever would be. No entanglements, no ties. Love was like that sometimes. *** Washington, D.C. October 2004 "Scully, that day I came to your house, why didn't you tell me about the baby you lost?" He was looking down at his wine glass, swirling the contents. "I felt like such a clumsy, stupid fool when I found out." "How did you find out?" Dana asked. "Your mother called me over for Thanksgiving the year you flew to Dallas to be with Peter's family. Your brother's orders had changed and she didn't see any reason why both of us should be alone." "And you went?" Dana asked amazed. He raised an eyebrow, just one and one very far. "Surprised you, didn't I. Surprised myself. The hermit does come out of his shell sometimes. I guess I can still change." He raised the glass, just let the wine touch his lips but did not drink. The glass was set down again to be turned nervously in those long fingers. "You wanted children, why didn't you try to have a baby after Peter's accident?" "Artificial Insemination, Mulder? I was forty-two when the shock wore off enough to consider it. That's late for a pregnancy, but not impossible. But by then I was working and seeing Peter almost every night. And I never wanted to raise a child alone." He nodded, understanding. Dana wondered why he was so down tonight. But then he was always down. His old humor, what she saw of it, had become as dry as a dead bone. But tonight he was even more depressed than usual. Here they were sitting in their old place and Mulder still had not eaten a bite. He got up awkwardly, excused himself, and went to the rest room. Dana noticed when he returned that he limped and held one arm stiffly. There was a new scar on the once smooth cheek she did not recognize and she noted again how grey his hair was. She tried not to stare. Tried not to cry. Life had not treated him gently. Not treated either of them gently. He settled back into the booth across from her, looked at his plate but still made no attempt to eat. "D-Dana," he began, oddly bashful. She looked up quickly. He hardly never called her 'Dana'. "What is it, Mulder?" He still seemed to be having trouble starting this. "Would you like to have dinner with me on Saturday?" Dana did stare now. She felt that she would never be able to expel the breath she held in her lungs. There was a beautiful chill flowing over her body she had totally forgotten. She had not felt the effect of these particular hormones for years. "Mulder, are you asking me out?" He face grew sad, embarrassed. Clumsily, he stood up, almost spilled his wine. Lunged for it with the stiff arm that sent a spasm of discomfort over his features. "That was a really stupid idea. Oh, God, Scully, you just buried your husband today." Before her eyes he seemed to shrivel back into some internal hole of loneliness, back into his shell. His voice was very soft when it came again. "Let me take you home." Hastily, Dana reached over and touched his hand, felt the warmth travel up her arm from that touch. He stopped, stood as still as a person can, eyes cast to where her hand lay upon his. "No, don't say that," she corrected. "It wasn't a stupid idea. I'd love to go out with you, Mulder. I can't think of anything I'd rather do." Slowly he nodded and slowly sat down. And that was when Dana felt her eyes begin to burn. She knew her face was puckering up with the strain of holding back. She knew she could not hide this, not from him who after all these years, knew her too well. Suddenly, he was beside her in her booth, his arm around her. "Don't cry," he pleaded, very close to tears himself. "Oh, please don't cry. I shouldn't have said anything." "It's not you," she managed to get out. But that wasn't true. It WAS him. Her life suddenly felt right, that for too many years had felt so wrong. Wrong? No, not wrong, only torn. 'Torn' was the word Dana had been looking for all these years. Loving Peter but never not loving Mulder either. This man with his arm, warm and tender around her. Comforting and seeking comfort. They always seemed to be doing that. He buried his face in her hair, leaned against her as if he would bury his entire self in her if he could. "Oh, Dana, I'm so tired," he whispered. "So very, very tired. I don't think I can play the games any more. I don't want to play the games." "Whose games?" she asked barely above a whisper. "Theirs... mine... ours." "Is that why you stopped looking for Samantha?" Dana asked very carefully. "Were you too tired to play?" Slowly, he took her face in his hands and stared deep into her eyes, knowing that she did not mean to hurt him but that she really wanted to know. It had been such a long time since anyone had really wanted to know what he thought. "I never stopped looking, not entirely." Something almost like a smile touched his lips. He whispered. "THEY only think I have." The smile vanished. "But it's hard, very hard to keep going alone." He paused, sighed and forged ahead. "I really miss having someone to watch my back." Dana leaned back in the booth, not breaking contact, neither wanted to let go but so she could better see his face. "To watch your back?" This was a bit of Mulder's old humor, but spoken from a heart bleeding with his unfulfilled hopes and dreams. "Someone to stand by my side and tell me I'm brilliant..." "Or that you're insane," Dana finished catching the rhythm as if it were eight year earlier and they had never been apart. "Someone I can be proud to point to and say, that person, I know her, and she is so amazing, so intelligent, so strong...." "And so stubborn." He came closer into the cloud of her scent and lost himself in it. "Someone I can hold onto in the dark..." "And be held," she offered from the deepest part of her. He raised his head and took her chin in his long, slender fingers. "I am so tired of being alone. I need a partner." "What kind of a partner?" Dana asked trembling. "The best kind. The only kind. You. Marry me, Dana." Dana blinked, stared into his swimming eyes, never to know if his eyes looked blurry because his were full of tears or because hers were. Curling her body within the strength of his arms, she began to weep softly and he held and rocked her until her tears slowed. "We'll talk about it later," he muttered, his deep voice rough. Then he hugged her tight as if he never wanted to release her. In time Dana came up as if from a bottomless lake of deep and encompassing emotion into the air. She put one hand on his cheek, covering the fresh scar. "Mulder, I'm tired, too. I'm tired of waiting. For the last year I've been waiting and I didn't even know I WAS waiting or what I was waiting for. Just that life was going... nowhere." She paused wondering if she was going to destroy it all, but she had to be honest. Dana Scully was always that. "Mulder, I don't regret marrying Peter." His voice unsteady when he tried he speak, he chose instead to turn his face and kiss the palm that had lain against his cheek, to stroke her hair. "And I don't regret knowing Cathy, I only regret causing you pain and losing the years we could have had. But at the time I needed and I could not have you. I felt if we were closer they would hurt you to hurt me. And then once I met Cathy -" He looked suddenly so young staring down at the floor repeating words she had heard before. "I guess I got in over my head." Dana reached for his hand and kissed his finger tips. "We'll never forget them, they are part of us, but this is our season now. Make love to me, Mulder," she whispered, losing herself in his startled, bemused eyes. Touching his chest she felt his heart beat quicken under her hand. Calculating rapidly, she whispered, "Give me a baby, Mulder." He stiffened, but she detected a hint of humor sparkle in the corner of his eyes. "Give us both one..." she whispered from the deepest empty part of her. Then she smiled impishly. "That is if you think you can get it up, old man." He stared down, down into her eyes probing her very soul. Was she joking? No, that would be too cruel, she would never. Suddenly, he felt her take his head in her hands, twine her fingers in his still thick hair, and begin to gently lick the salt of his tears, the velvet tongue on his face sending a wash of pure electric happiness through his body. And here he had gone years thinking Cathy was the only unpredictable one. The roguish smile Dana had not seen for a long, long time lit up his face and his beautiful eyes. "I guess we'll never know unless we try," he breathed. "Create our own little X-File, full of unexpected mysteries? I could go for that." And he kissed her deep with a kiss that woke slumbering joy. The End (No, I don't plan a sequel, there are 'second generation' stories a-plenty in the works. Let them have their privacy. They've earned it.) Here's my current story list for those who are interested. All are on the OSU site and all but 'Lady and the Tiger' and 'All Hallow's Eve' are on cs.nmt.edu. For some reason I can't set anything on CS.NMT.EDU any more. Windsinger's Index as of 11/15/95 My big work is my series REVELATIONS. (Note a fan fiction piece which is not mine came out in October 1995 called REVELATIONS so don't be confused.) About the series: REVELATIONS. The initial story of this series, takes place after episode 5 of the program. The rest of the series takes place in the latter half of the first season, after FIRE and after TOOMS ('I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you, Mulder.') and before the ERLENMEYER FLASK. 1. REVELATIONS (working title): In process, due winter-spring 1996. 2. THE BOX (On cs.nmt.edu and OSU) released 3/95 3. THE VACATION (working title): In process, due winter-spring 1996. 4. THE ABDUCTEE (On cs.nmt.edu and OSU) released late July 1995. 5. MILE HIGH (Released late July 1995.) 6. MEMORIES (On cs.nmt.edt and OSU) original version released 3/95. Revision released 7/95. Please read the revision. 7. JUST THE TWO OF US: Under construction. (Gosh, this is going to be as long as THE ABDUCTEE. Trying VERY hard to get this out before Christmas 1995.) The real finale to REVELATIONS. 8. SKUNKED AGAIN: A little epilogue. Due winter-spring 1996. Not in the REVELATIONS series: DO NOT GO GENTLE (on cs.nmt.edu and OSU) posted 3/95 (A Colony/End Game missing scene) DELIVER US FROM EVIL (on cs.nmt.edu and OSU) posted 4/17) (A post-Calusari story) THE WEDDING, version B (The Action-Adventure Version) an adjunct to MacSpooky's GENERATIONS series and with her spirit and support. (on cs.nmt.edu and OSU) posted 8/95 THE LADY AND THE TIGER (with Steph Davies) On OSU site. posted 8/95. (A post Anasazi story) ALL HALLOW'S EVE (On OSU site) posted Halloween 1995. (A post Anasazi, post-Blessing Way, post-Paper Clip, post Clyde Brookman Halloween thriller.) FOR EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON (On OSU site) posted 11/95. (A poignant coming apart and coming together Romance.) -------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------- "Goodbye," said the fox, "And now here is my secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; What is essential is invisible to the eye." A. de Saint-Exupery