REUNITED (1/1)
Date: 26 Oct 1995

Sometimes, I just get all caught up in things. Like all the
relationship stories that have been coming down lately (or should I
say 'going down' lately), so my apologies to non relationshippers.
This story fills the gap between the time the MIB's chase Scully and
Mulder out of the mine operation and Skinner picks them up at the
little cafe in 'Paperclip'. Therefore, THIRD SEASON WARNINGS
apply. I rate it a strong R, for me at least. This is as close to 'sex
lovingly described' as I will ever get, but it's still not really
described. It's strongly hinted at. Hope this isn't too mushy, but if
it is, be warned.
Standard disclaimer: I would trade lives with Chris Carter only if I
got to keep my husband, six kids, dog and friends. Otherwise, he
thought up these guys, the basis for this story and the original
script. Since I can't be him, I would like to use his ideas for a
while. I'll put them back when I'm done, I promise. (Lawyers:
please read this as 'no copyright infringement intended')
Comments, recipes, income tax questions, complaints against the
government, please send to me at vmoseley@fgi.net.

REUNITED
By Vickie Moseley

Night
West Virginia/Western Maryland border

They caught up with each other at a stand of trees some ways
from the mine. Fox Mulder was having a hard time catching his
breath and the wheeze in his chest was matching the dizziness he
was feeling. He leaned heavily against a tree and willed the spots to
leave his eyes.

Dana Scully was panting, too. But not so much that she
couldn't see her partner was having a bad time of it. Automatically
she grabbed his wrist and took his pulse. Even accounting for the
run they had just had, he was tachy as all hell. And she definitely
didn't like the noise he was making in his chest. She reached up to
feel his forehead and he smartly brushed her hand aside. "I'm fine,"
he hissed. "Just not quite up to par, yet. Dying sort of takes a lot
out of you, ya know," he continued to wheeze. At least the spots
were gone. He quickly surveyed the area they had just left. "I don't
see anybody following us, but we better get moving anyway." He
took her hand and started skirting the woods.

"Mulder, when was the last time you slept?" Scully demanded in
a whisper as they avoided tree roots and saplings.

"Let's see, what month is this?" he grinned a death's head grin at
her. She wasn't impressed. "Geez, Scully, I don't know. A couple
of days ago, I guess. But I got lots and lots of sleep for the couple
days I was dead. All caught up, you might say." More grin. Less
impressed.

"OK, smartass, when was the last time you ATE?" she was
getting angry now, but she had no idea why.

"Now that I can tell you! I grabbed a Big Mac on the way to
my apartment." He felt triumphant in that small accomplishment.
In all honesty, he could have eaten more, but it was all the money
he had at the time. Being dead did have a decided negative affect
on personal finances.

"And before that?" she countered.

"Some sort of corn cake thing in New Mexico. It was pretty
good, actually," he responded, but he really wasn't paying much
attention to the conversation. "Hey, Scully, is that a town up
there?"

Scully put her hand up to her eyes and squinted. The image
reminded him of an old Lone Ranger episode he had seen. He
struggled not to make the comparison aloud. "Gee, Mulder," she
finally answered, "it could be a town. Or, knowing these hills, it
could be gophers with flashlights." She smirked at her own joke.

"Glad I'm back, aren't you, Scully?" he teased.

She took a moment to look at him, reflecting on how miserable
she had been just a mere 24 hours before. "Yeah, Mulder. I am."

It was a town, or more or less a town. One main street bisected
by five or six smaller ones. A 'downtown' business district that
consisted of one block. A tiny town park with a cement bandstand.
A post office. A police/volunteer fire house. And on the corner,
across from a saloon and a greasy spoon cafe, was a small motel.
They headed straight for it.

"Somehow, I don't think we should split up," Mulder said, half
under his breath as they approached the office. He didn't know
quite why, but he didn't want to be that far away from her. Not
tonight, maybe not ever. But he wasn't sure how she would react.
Quickly, he started lining up good reasons for his apprehension.

"Ditto," she whispered, as she held the door open and he
grabbed it from her hand. She smiled at him in perfect
understanding. <When did her eyes get that shade of blue?> he
pondered for the briefest second as he followed her in the office.

After a minute waiting at the desk, a small woman in a ratty
wool cardigan came out of door in the back of the room. " 'Help
you folks?" she asked.

"We'd like a room for the night. Two beds," Scully added
hastily. The woman lifted an eyebrow and snorted. She turned to
the shelf of keys behind her, took one out of the cubby and handed
it over.

"Don't have any doubles left. Hunters in town. Got one with a
king bed, though. You look feisty, you should be able to fight him
off, missy. If you think he'll cause you any trouble, you can always
borrow 'ole reliable'," she added, thrusting her chin toward an
antique rifle hanging over the doorway.

Scully could feel Mulder stifling his laugh behind her. "No, I'm
sure he'll behave. Thank you." She handed over her credit card
and signed for the room.

The room was small, but clean. The bedspread was actually
better suited to a queen sized bed, just the fringe hung over the top
of the mattress. A tiny bathroom was off the back of the room and
one almost antique dresser and mirror stood against the wall. "I
think I saw this room in 'Papermoon'," Mulder quipped as he made
his way over to the bed and slowly lowered himself down on it.
Every bone in his body creaked and groaned. A sharp, stabbing
pain lanced his back as he shifted and popped the vertebrae back
into their original positions. "It's been a while since I slept in a real
bed," he sighed. Already his eyes were drooping down. No lullaby
needed for Fox tonight.

Scully took a moment to check out the room. She still wasn't
sure they wouldn't be ambushed at anytime. Finally convinced that
they had lost the seeming platoon of black panel vans that had
converged on them at the mine site, she turned her attentions to her
partner. Without warning, she plopped down on the bed and put
her head on his chest.

"Scully, this is nice, but I'm too tired right now to really enjoy
it," Mulder sighed heavily.

"Shhhh! I'm trying to listen to your breathing," she hissed.

"Don't you really need a stethoscope for that," he asked, still not
opening his eyes. He was really enjoying the sensation of her hair
on his chest, but he could never admit that to her.

"Hush, or I go get 'ole reliable'," she growled and he complied.
He had obviously suffered from smoke inhalation. His lungs were
still recovering. He needed to be resting, for a couple of days, not
running through the spring night air in the mountains of Western
Maryland. She lifted her head, finally satisfied that he wasn't going
to go into cardiac or pulmonary arrest on her. She brushed her
hand across his forehead. It was warm, but not hot. The fever that
had plagued him for the week before his 'death' had apparently
broken during the Navaho Blessing Way ritual.

"Are you done playing 'doctor', yet," he grumbled. "It's not
nearly as kinky as you'd think, you know," he added. He was
slurring his words and he still hadn't opened his eyes.

"Mulder, take your clothes off," she demanded, getting off the
bed and heading for the bath.

That got his eyes open. He stared at the closed door. "I don't
know if I could meet a lot of expectations tonight, Scully," he
joked, but his mind was whirling at the thoughts rushing through it.

"Mulder, take off your clothes and get under the covers," she
shouted over the running water. "Your clothes are damp where
you were sweating and from the dew. If you sleep in them, you'll
catch another fever for sure. I have no intentions of molesting you,
so just do what I ask, OK?"

He shook his head and shrugged to himself. Finally, he pushed
himself off the bed with great effort and stripped down to his
boxers. The chill in the room quickly chased him under the covers,
where he settled down again. <This really is more comfortable,> he
admitted to himself. Once again, he started drifting off to sleep.

He heard her come in. He could smell her, too. Her hair, her
soap. The faint scent of perfume that still remained even after the
workout she had been through. He felt the bed move as she got
under the top cover, but not under the sheet. He smiled to himself.
She definitely wasn't a fool, this one. He relaxed again, and this
time, sleep claimed him as her own.

Scully lay there a long time, just listening to his breathing. The
wheeze was much less pronounced, now that his body was finally at
rest. She tried to close her eyes, but found them blinking open. So
much to think about. So much had happened. She rolled over and
faced him as he slept next to her. <He's alive!> her mind shouted.
He kept referring to the time he was lost as being dead, and she had
no doubt that he believed he had died. Ordinarily, she would have
scoffed at the idea. You don't die and then two or three days later
come back to life. It just doesn't happen. Well, maybe it happened
once, but that was about two thousand years ago. . .

But he had been lost. Of that, she was certain. And he had been
close to death. She would be eternally grateful to Albert Hosteen
for caring for him while she had gone back to Washington alone.
Mulder had been very sick. And she hadn't been there. He had
almost died in a fire. And she had sent him off to face it alone. A
rush of self recrimination rushed through her. He meant so much to
her and she had turned her back on him, left without really
searching. She had been all too eager to write him off for dead
because that was the way all the 'evidence' pointed. <Well, I'm not
going to leave him again, that's for certain,> she decided and finally
sleep came to her, as well.

It is inevitable when two people unaccustomed to sleeping with
each other finally do sleep together that the covers are the first
casualty of war. And just as surely, cold bodies seek warmth,
where ever it can be found. So it was that in the earliest light of
day, Mulder awoke to find himself rather dangerously entangled
with his partner, who was sound asleep in his arms. He regarded
her for a few minutes. She was so beautiful. Not tall and leggy,
like Phoebe. Not dark haired and buxom like his occasional
dalliances. Short, red haired, honest face, eyes so deep and blue as
to put the ocean to shame. . . And just as quietly and steady as the
sun rose over the hills surrounding them, he realized just how much
he loved her.

He didn't mean to take action on his thoughts. But before he
even knew what he was doing, he was placing soft kisses on her
forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her chin. As she slowly woke up,
her sleep-heavy eyes focusing on his face, he leaned in and took
possession of her mouth. It was a tender kiss, almost courtly, in
another era. She looked at him, somewhat confused. Immediately,
he misunderstood. "I'll stop, Scully, if you don't want me to," he
hastened to whisper.

She still was coming awake and had been taken a bit by surprise.
She had little remembrance of the night except that she hadn't felt
so safe and warm and. . .'loved' in a long time. She looked into his
eyes, those hazel eyes she had come to understand so well. "I don't
want you to, Mulder," she sighed. In resignation and with a twinge
of sorrow, he started to roll over on to his back, to get out of the
bed and into his clothes. She stopped his movement, encircling him
with her arms. "No, Mulder. I don't want you to stop," she
explained as she leaned up to take his mouth as her own.

Sex had always been concealed in darkness for him. Phoebe had
been obsessed with it. Even in those lazy Oxford Sunday
afternoons, she had insisted that the shades be pulled, the curtains
drawn, plunging the room and their bodies into darkness. And the
few single-night preoccupations he had allowed himself in the
ensuing years had always taken place under the stars, never the
daylight sky. By the light of morning, he had extracted himself, and
was gone like a wraith is chased by the sun. Not so today. Not so
this time, with this woman.

As the first rays of the sun lit the room with brightness, he could
see her clearly, with loving eyes. As their bodies explored and
aroused each other, nothing hid in the corners, no shadow darkened
their path. It was in the light of day that they finally found each
other, joined as one, stepped off the mountaintop and soared,
together. And in the light of that new dawn, they swore their love.

They separated reluctantly, neither wanting to let go of the
other. They lay there for some time, kissing soft kisses, whispering
gentle promises. At last, he rolled over onto his back and she
nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, his arm surrounding
her waist. After a moment, she looked up at him. "You aren't
wheezing this morning," she smiled up at him.

He regarded her a minute <Forever the doctor>. "I always said
you were a good doctor, Scully. You've cured me."

With a smile beyond all knowing and reason, she shook her
head. "No, Mulder. We've cured each other."

The end.