From: DashaK@aol.com
Date: Thu, 6 May 1999 23:00:04 EDT
Subject: NEW: Increments by Dasha K. (9/?)


Increments by Dasha K. (9/?)

Disclaimers and everything in the first part.

dashak@aol.com


Chapter Twelve- Stairway, continued from previous post

Mulder awoke with a start.  The bedroom was dark and the 
clock read 6:02 pm.  He'd slept for nearly five hours.

He was almost surprised to see himself not a lanky, skinny 
fourteen year-old boy, but a grown man in his lover's bed.

Hot tears sprung in his eyes.

She was dead.

He was ashamed to find himself almost relieved.

Standing, he stretched, trying to shake off the lassitude 
of midday sleep.  Scully was gone from the bedroom, but he 
could smell her on his hands and skin.  He slipped on a 
pair of boxers and a tee shirt and went to the bathroom to 
brush his teeth and splash some cold water on his face, 
still creased with marks from the pillow.  He found his 
glasses on the counter and put them on, his eyes too bleary 
and swollen to attempt contact lenses.

In the living room he found her, curled up on the couch 
with the Journal of the AMA on her lap.  She looked up at 
him and smiled.  Scully wasn't one to give out smiles 
indiscriminately and every time she sent one in his 
direction, he somehow felt he'd received a benediction.

She's not a saint, Mulder, he told himself.

"I was just about to wake you.  I know you get crabby if 
you miss your Simpsons reruns."

He joined her on the couch and put his arm around her.  
"I'm sorry for all that before."

Scully shook her head.  "You don't need to apologize, grief 
is nothing to be sorry for."

"I know, but I hate to be so out of control."

"That's my line, Mulder."

He bit his lip.  "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be 
feeling right now.  I don't feel much of anything."

"You feel whatever you feel at a time like this."  She 
shrugged and touched his arm.  "How did it happen, Mulder?"

"Another stroke, apparently.  My aunt came by this morning 
to pick her up for brunch and found her on the floor of the 
bathroom."

So many deaths, he thought, staring at his hand resting on 
his knee.  It never ends.  Who's next?  Me?  Her?

He'd never truly had the chance to mourn his father's 
death.  Would he let himself properly grieve for his 
mother?

Scully spoke up.  "It's going to be different this time."

"What do you mean?"

Her blue eyes swam with unshed tears.  "You and I lost 
someone at the same time."  Her sister, his father.  "I 
remember only too well how we handled it. The two of us, it 
was like we were having a contest to see who was the 
strongest, the more stoic.  We both dusted ourselves off 
and pretended nothing was wrong, just another day at the 
office."  Scully wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  
"It's not healthy, it's not right to treat death so 
lightly."

He touched his finger to a tear trickling down her cheek 
and brought it to his mouth, tasting the salt of her tears.  
"I wish things could have been different," he whispered, 
"that we could have comforted each other."

"We can't change the past, Mulder, but we can try to change 
who we are and what we do right now in the present."  She 
paused and mirrored the gesture he'd just made, tasting the 
tears he hadn't even known he'd shed.

Mulder found it unbearably moving.

"I feel guilty that I don't feel sadder.  I wasn't very 
close to her, you know."

"I know."

"The last time I spent a holiday with her was four years 
ago and I was only up there for one night.  The only other 
times I saw her were when she was in the hospital or if it 
was in some way related to a case."

When was the last time?  Was it at her house when she'd 
slapped him across the face?  When he'd raged at her with 
accusations?

Was that the last time she laid eyes on her only son?

Scully drew him close and kissed each of his closed 
eyelids.  "Don't feel guilty," she murmured.  "You did the 
best you could."

"I never called, rarely even bothered to send a Christmas 
or birthday card.  Did you know she called me in December 
and asked me up for Christmas?  She said she wanted to make 
a new start and I lied to her, told her we had a big case 
brewing.  Instead, I spent Christmas Eve in a haunted house 
with you."

"Mulder."  There was an edge to her voice now.  "Don't do 
this to yourself.  You had reasons, very valid and human 
reasons, for not wanting to be around your mother.  Feeling 
guilty like this isn't going to solve anything."

"I don't even know if I had that much love left for her any 
more.  Does that make me a terrible person?"

She squeezed her hand.  "No, Mulder, it doesn't."

Mulder let out his breath and pulled away from her grasp.  
"My aunt wants me to say something at the funeral.  I have 
no idea what to say."

"Anything.  Perhaps a good memory you have of her, 
something everyone can walk away and remember about her."

His mother, young and in a sundress, running across the wet 
sand in her bare feet.

"Yeah, I suppose I'll come up with something."

"When is the funeral?"

"Tomorrow, late afternoon, up in Greenwich.  Aunt Jean 
doesn't believe in wasting any time.  I'll take the shuttle 
up in the morning."

Her thinking-line appeared just above her brows.  "I'll 
come with you, Mulder."

He shook his head.  "No, you don't have to.  You're in no 
condition to travel."

"I'm fine and you know it.  It's not a backpacking trip to 
Borneo.  The flight is short."

"Really, you don't have to do this, Scully."

Her face wore the fierce expression that he knew meant 
she'd brook no further argument from him.  "Mulder, if 
we're going to be together, really together, then we need 
to do things like this together."

Of course, she was right.  He nodded.

"Being together doesn't just mean good sex and laughter.  
It means that I have to be with you when you need me, just 
like how you've been here for me all these weeks when I've 
needed you."

He smiled.  "We'll go together, then."

"Together," she echoed.

He paused and he felt a grin bloom on his face.  "Hey, 
Scully, did you mean the part about great sex?"

Her eyebrows arched.  "I believe I said *good* sex."

"You'd rate it as just good?  You've got to be joking."  He 
wasn't entirely sure there was a superlative in the 
dictionary that could properly express how it felt to make 
love with Scully.

Her voice took on a maddeningly unreadable tone.  "I'd give 
you about a B-minus.  Very good, but there's some room for 
improvement."

He shot her a murderous look and clutched his chest, as if 
wounded.  "That's a low blow to any man's ego."

Scully burst into the merry peals of laughter he had heard 
from her so few times he could probably count them on his 
fingers.  "You aren't the only one who has a sense of humor 
around here," she gasped between giggles.

Scully, giggling.  The National Weather Service must have 
just issued a wind-chill advisory for Hell.

She dabbed the tears of laughter from her eyes.  "You know, 
we don't laugh enough."

"No, we don't."

"I wasn't always so . . . humorless."

"The X-Files are enough to wipe the smile off anyone's 
face."

The smile faded from her face.  "Mulder, I was joking.  Sex 
with you is- well, I can't put it into words."

His lips found the fragile flesh of her earlobe and he ran 
his tongue along its loops and whorls.  She shuddered.  
"Tell me what it's like, Scully," he whispered.

She shook her head, pink beginning to bloom on her cheeks.  
"I'm not good at that sort of thing."  She had the slightly 
panicked tone in her voice that she'd had when he asked her 
to sing for him in the Florida woods.

He went for his favorite spot on her head, the baby-tender 
skin just below her earlobe and brushed it with his lips.  
The breath caught in her throat.  "Come on, tell me."

Scully's eyes closed and she rested her head against the 
striped cushion of the couch.  "Okay, I'll try, but it's 
going to come out sounding stupid."

With sure fingers, he began unfastening the tiny 
pearlescent buttons of her gray cardigan.

Her voice was husky with hesitancy.  "Being with you is 
like .  . . it's like we've been making love forever, since 
the first week we met."

Mulder pictured holding a flickering candle close to the 
bare skin of her back and wished it could have been true.

She continued, "But it also feels so new at the same time, 
like we're exploring a great new world, like we've never 
been with anyone else before."

He undid the last button and pulled apart the soft cashmere 
folds.  Running his eyes hungrily along her torso, he 
nodded in agreement.  His fingers drew slow circles on her 
cafe au lait nipples, and he watched them stiffen and 
pucker at his touch.  His hand moved further down and he 
traced the outline of her bullet scar, noticing how it had 
begun to fade from red to pink.

"It's frustrating, too," she said, her voice slowing as if 
hypnotized by his touch.  "I want you so badly, Mulder.  I 
want everything, to have you inside me, to come with me . . 
."

Mulder's cock, already hard, twitched at her words.  He 
slid off the couch and knelt before her, admiring her 
flushed face against the pillows, her eyes still shut and 
her lips parted.

She was alive and so was he.  Surrounding them were the 
stench of death and loss and betrayal, the ashes of their 
lives in the basement, the bodies and souls of their lost 
ones, but they were alive.  Their struggles, their battles 
had been for this.  She had laid him on a table and shocked 
the rhythm back into his heart for this.  He had stumbled 
across Arctic snow to find her for this.

There was much more work to be done, more wars to be 
fought, but Mulder realized he'd found the truth.  The 
truth had always been there, masquerading as his steadfast 
partner.

The truth was that in the end, the only thing worth getting 
out of bed and engaging in the quest for was love.

He almost laughed at his stupidity, that the real answer to 
the emptiness that had plagued him for so many years had 
been literally under his nose.

Mulder  brought her face to his and kissed her slowly.  She 
opened her eyes and smiled. Such a lovely smile, he'd have 
to find a way to make her display it more often.  He found 
his own words.  "I want to be inside you, Scully.  I want 
to feel you around me, I want to disappear into you, to be 
completely joined with you, if only for a few minutes of 
our lives to have us be one person, one flesh."

She took his hands in hers and squeezed.

"Let's go to bed, Mulder.  I think it's our time."

"No."  He shook his head.  "I don't want to hurt you."

"We'll go slow, we'll be gentle with each other."  Her 
voice was almost beseeching.

God, he was torn.  Torn by the desire thrilling through 
every nerve of his body and torn by the knowledge that he 
could hurt her.

He shook his head, unable to believe he was doing so. 

She nodded, in resignation, perhaps.  "Perhaps another 
night, then."

He kissed her forehead.  "You know it's going to happen.  
It's just a matter of waiting."

"My patience is wearing out."  She made a disgusted face.

"We've waited six years, and you can't hold out for a few 
days?"

"I'm like a starving man who's finally been given a 
sandwich.  Now I want the full meal."

Mulder kissed her on the cheek and began to re-button her 
sweater.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He snorted.  "I'm trying to exercise some restraint."

"This is a first . . ."

"You wouldn't call holding out for so many years 
restraint?"

"I'd call it denial," she pertly replied.  "Or maybe just 
sublimation."

"Speaking of, how about we try to sublimate our sexual 
desire in a pizza from Antonio's.  Think you can do a pizza 
yet?"

Scully's lips twitched as if she were trying to keep her 
laughter at bay.  "It depends on what you want me to do 
with the pizza, Mulder."

Well, wasn't she turning out to be a regular Paula 
Poundstone?  The Devil must be trying on his ski boots, he 
thought, grinning.  "I meant have it for dinner."

"Oh, is that what you meant?  Sure, I can probably eat some 
pizza, as long as you confine the Canadian bacon and 
pineapple to your half."

"Okay, Canadian bacon and pineapple for me, plain cheese 
for Princess."

Scully shook her small fist at him.  "You'd better watch it 
with the pet names."

"Oh yeah, what are you going to do . . . Babycakes . . ."

She made a gagging noise.  "It's what I won't do to you 
that you need to be concerned about."

He rose and headed for the phone.  "I know not to mess with 
a good thing . . . Scully.  Or can I call you Dana now that 
I've seen you naked?"

"Sure thing, *Fox*."

Shuddering at the thought, he vowed to never call her Dana, 
unless forced at gunpoint.  He picked up the phone and 
dialed Antonio's.


Chapter Thirteen- Elegy


The living room was quiet except for the crackling of the 
fire in the hearth and the sound of Mulder drumming his 
fingers on the desk.  Scully looked up from her copy of 
"Memoirs of a Geisha."  He was rubbing his eyes and she 
noticed that there were only a few sentences on the 
laptop's screen.  Obviously, the eulogy wasn't going well.

How do you sum up a life in a few paragraphs?  She had 
faced that dilemma herself when her mother had asked her to 
speak at Melissa's funeral.  All morning she'd stared at 
the screen of her computer, but her fingers had refused to 
type anything as a thousand memories whizzed through her 
grieving mind.

Finally, only a few hours before the service, she'd decided 
the simplest way was the best.  Slowly and deliberately, 
she'd tapped out the story of their summer trip to Europe, 
when Melissa was twenty-two and she was twenty-- all the 
harrowing and wonderful experiences they'd shared as they 
Eurailed across the continent with backpacks and a copy of 
the "Let's Go" guide.

Mulder's task was more difficult.  She and Melissa had been 
as different as night and day, but they'd shared the 
enduring bond unique to sisters.  Once they'd gotten past 
the squabbling and rivalry of their teenage years, they'd 
grown extraordinarily close, even when separated by 
hundreds or thousands of miles.  There was a sheaf of 
letters in her desk from Missy, letters she hadn't been 
able to bear to read since her sister's murder.  Someday, 
she swore, she'd sit down and honor the memory of her older 
sister by reading each letter.

But Mulder . . . his relationship with his mother had been 
forever marred by Samantha's abduction.  He rarely spoke of 
it, except earlier in the evening, but she'd seen for 
herself the tension and distance between the two when 
they'd briefly been to see her in Greenwich two years 
before.

She couldn't even imagine undertaking the task now before 
Mulder.

As if having read her mind, he turned around in the desk 
chair and sighed.  "I don't think I can do this, Scully."  
His hand went to his neck and he rolled his head, making 
loud pops of tense vertebrae.

She came up behind him and began to massage his neck.  
Melissa had been a massage therapist and had passed along a 
few tips over the years.

Bending his head forward, Mulder groaned in appreciation.

"I think it would be easier if you tried to tell one story 
about your mother.  Don't even try to summarize her life 
all at once, it's too difficult."  Her fingers began to 
knead knots out of his shoulders.

"You're probably right, Scully."  He made a low sound in 
the back of his throat.  "That feels wonderful."

"When I'm stronger, I'll give you the full-body treatment."

Mulder turned his head and grinned like a little boy 
promised a new bike for Christmas.

"Maybe you need to take a break."

He shrugged.  "Maybe."  The smile faded from his face and 
he stood, moving to sit on the rug in front of the fire, 
motioning her to join him.

She sat by his side and he took her hand.  "Do you remember 
telling me about seeing your father just before your mother 
called you with the news of his death?"

Her eyes strayed to the very chair she'd seen Ahab sitting 
in and she shivered at the eerie memory.

"Yes, I remember."

"What do you think that was?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  I've thought about it now and again 
and my brain tells me it was a strange coincidence, a trick 
of the eyes.  But my heart," she tapped her breastbone for 
emphasis, "insists it was truly him, that Dad's spirit did 
visit me, to tell me one last time that he loved me."

Mulder touched her cheek and sighed.

She stared in fascination at the dancing colors of the 
flames in the fireplace.  "I hate having to admit something 
like that.  It goes against the grain of my nature, all my 
scientific beliefs."

"Paranormal literature reports many incidences of death 
omens and visitations from loved ones."

She rolled her eyes.  Mulder had said virtually the same 
thing when she'd sat at his hospital bed and told him the 
story of her vision the very first time.  And yet, she also 
remembered the strange dream she'd had when she'd been so 
sure Mulder had died out in the New Mexico desert.  "I know 
that, Mulder, but it doesn't make it any easier to accept."

"The reason why I asked you that . . ."  His voice trailed 
off and she took her eyes from the fire to look at his 
face, his strikingly irregular features clouded with 
confusion and pain.  "The reason I asked you is something 
happened last night.  I had a dream."

Scully let out the breath she didn't even know she'd been 
holding.  "Did you see your mother?"

Shaking his head, he nervously ran his tongue along his 
lower lip.  "No, I didn't.  I saw Samantha.  She was still 
a child in my dream. We were walking in a forest and she 
took me to a lake where we heard a woman screaming.  She 
told me that someone had died, but wouldn't tell me who it 
was."  His eyes darkened into the deepest of charcoal 
grays.  "It felt so real, Scully.  I was there, with my 
sister, and I heard my mother dying."

She wanted to tell him, as she'd told herself so many times 
before, that it couldn't be true, that there was no such 
thing as an omen or premonition of death, but she bit her 
tongue.  It wasn't what Mulder needed to hear.  It was no 
time to play skeptical Agent Scully.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and held him 
close, feeling the anxious drumming of his heart through 
the thin material of his shirt.  "If it felt real, then it 
was," she whispered.

His forehead fell to her shoulder and she felt a shudder 
run through her body.  "Do you believe?" he rasped.

For an instant, as she held him and felt the tears begin to 
fall from his eyes and dampen the front of her sweater, she 
did.

"Do you believe, Scully?" he repeated, voice trembling with 
the force of an oncoming sob.

I do not believe in vampires, she thought.  Werewolves, 
shapeshifters, flukemen and moth creatures do not exist.  I 
am still not fully convinced of the existence of 
extraterrestrials, but this . . . this is different.  I 
believe in the soul and its ascension after death to the 
afterlife.  I know this because I was there, for only the 
briefest of times.  I stood on the cusp of life and death 
and saw my father.  He spoke to me and urged me to return 
to life.

For the first time since waking from the long sleep of 
coma, she believed in what she'd seen.

"Mulder," she whispered into his coarse, dark hair, "I 
believe you."

His answer was something between a long sigh and a sob.  
She simply held him, letting the storm of his emotions take 
him completely over.  There was nothing she could do to 
soothe his pain but be there and believe.

In the morning they rose, dressed and caught a cab to the 
airport.

End of (9/?)

Whoops!  Hey archivists, I messed up.  There are 16 parts to Increments, not 
20.  I think I need a nap. <g>


Yes, Increments is done.  The final chapter is off to my betas and should be 
posted later today or early tomorrow, so if you're afraid of works in 
progress, have no fear.

Increments by Dasha K. (10/20)

Disclaimers and everything in the first part.

Feedback is adored at dashak@aol.com.


Chapter Fourteen- Greenwich Mean Time


The cool brush of his fingers along her cheekbone jolted 
Scully into consciousness.  Where were they?  A stakeout?  
No, they were parked on a suburban street, surrounded by 
large, immaculately tended houses and snow-covered front 
yards.  It reminded her of a set of a film version of one 
of John Updike's novels, a place where tall, blonde people 
named Skip and Muffy walked their golden retrievers along 
the immaculate sidewalks, while discussing mutual funds and 
their new yacht.

Greenwich, Connecticut.

They had arrived.

She shook her head and rapidly blinked to clear her head.  
"Sorry, I drifted off."

Of course, she'd never admit it to Mulder, but tromping 
through two different airports and the flight had exhausted 
her.  She'd fallen asleep almost as soon as they'd left La 
Guardia in their rental car.

Mulder smiled at her and she remembered a stakeout many 
years before when he'd accused her of drooling.  "I like to 
watch you sleep, Scully.  It's always been a private 
pleasure of mine."

Her face began to flush, thinking of how many times she'd 
dozed off in front of him and how he must have been 
watching.  She looked around.  "This isn't the hotel."

"No, it's not."

She looked out the window again and realized they were 
parked in front of his mother's house.  "What are we doing 
here?"

A pained look passed over his face.  "I just wanted to see 
the house before . . ."

Scully mentally supplied the missing words-before the 
funeral.

They walked through the front gate and up the sidewalk to 
the white Colonial house.  At the door, as they stood at 
the top of the front steps, Mulder fished in his pockets 
for a key.    She must have given him an odd look, for he 
said, "I've had a key, for emergencies, for a long time, 
but I've never used it before."

Inside, the house was spotless and smelled faintly of 
cinnamon and vanilla.  There was no sign someone had died 
inside just the day before.  They turned from the entryway 
into the living room, tastefully decorated with traditional 
furniture, nothing outlandish or bright, but nothing 
memorable, either, Scully thought.  Simply your average 
upper-middle class living room.  

She turned to Mulder, who was standing in the doorway with 
his hands shoved in his coat pockets.  "Is it difficult to 
be here?"

He shook his head.  "No, not really.  I never lived here.  
She moved here after the divorce, but I'd been sent to 
Exeter by then.  I spent summers at camp or with my father 
and only came down here for some holidays and the odd 
weekend."

"Did she move here to be close to her sister?"

"Yeah, Mom and Jean were always close.  They grew up here 
and I think she was relieved to be back in her old 
environment."

Scully looked at the wood end table between the cream couch 
and the blue one.  On it were several photographs, framed 
in silver.  She smiled to see a photo of young Fox, sitting 
with a goofy grin on his childishly round face, holding 
baby Samantha on his lap.  Mulder lifted the photo and 
smiled, his grin echoing the one immortalized in the photo.

There was another of Mulder, about two years old, splashing 
in a bathtub on his stomach, the white flesh of his bare 
butt contrasting with the rest of his body, deeply tanned.  
She tried, but failed, to conceal a snicker at that one.  
And then there was Mulder with a mouthful of braces and an 
unfortunately clunky pair of glasses, his skinny limbs 
evident in a basketball uniform.  Mulder tapped the glass 
of the photo with his thumb, groaning, "God, the teen years 
. . ."

She wandered across the living room to look at some more 
photographs arranged on the mantel of the fireplace.  Her 
heart lurched when she spotted a picture of Mulder and 
herself, taken at her birthday party the year before.

Scully wasn't really one for parties, especially parties 
where she had to be the center of attention.  Her oldest 
friend, Ellen, had cheerfully ignored that fact and thrown 
her a thirty-fourth birthday party at her house in Chevy 
Chase.  It was supposed to be a family dinner with Ellen, 
her husband and two kids, but she'd entered the house to 
find it full of people shouting "Surprise!" at her.  
Stunned, she'd dropped the bottle of wine she'd brought on 
the floor, where it dramatically rolled down the hall until 
it hit the closet door with a loud thud.

Last February had been the most difficult of times for her, 
still struggling to deal with the special issues of 
surviving cancer and the loss of Emily.  Emily had forced 
her to face the issues she had been ignoring for months-her 
inability to bear a child of her own, the injustice done to 
her by her faceless enemies, everything she had sacrificed 
for the truth.  Every day was a struggle for her to get out 
of bed, get herself dressed and into the car for another 
day with Mulder in the basement.  Every night was a fight 
to fall asleep and not dream of the sweet face of her child 
in her coffin, of the children she'd never have, of evil 
waiting in the shadows for her.

Still, that night she'd somehow found herself happy, 
surrounded by old and dear friends from medical school and 
Quantico, people who knew her and loved her from a day when 
her life had been less complicated.  People who remembered 
her as a woman who laughed freely.

Mulder had shown up at the party after she'd had two of 
Ellen's special strawberry swirl margaritas, when her 
spirits were about as high as they could possibly be.  He'd 
seemed rather embarrassed to be in her element, and 
surprised to see her flushed with alcohol, laughter and an 
impromptu dance with Kevin McMahon, an old classmate.

All night long Ellen had been snapping pictures and at some 
point she'd taken one ofMulder and Scully sitting on the 
couch, both of them holding margarita glasses.  Mulder had 
his arm around her in the photo, which was something she 
didn't remember him doing that night.  Their faces were 
turned to each other and they looked as if they were about 
to burst into laughter at any moment.  She wondered what 
they had found so amusing that night, but had no 
recollection.

She remembered that night as being the first that he'd ever 
given her a real birthday present, instead of something 
goofy, like the astronaut key chain from the year before.  
Instead, he'd gotten her a bracelet of fine links of 
silver, simple and utterly her style.

Mulder came up behind her and kissed the back of her neck.  
"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"Ellen sent it to me.  My mother had mentioned to me that 
she had few pictures of me as an adult, so I made a copy of 
this one and sent it to her.  I didn't know she framed it 
and put it in the living room."

She smiled.  It was a sweet picture, one that showed their 
all-too-rare lighthearted side.  Scully turned to him.  
"Why would Ellen send you this?  She didn't give a copy to 
me . . ."

With amusement, she watched the color rise in Mulder's 
face.  "Uh . . I asked her to," he said, hands fidgeting.  
"I didn't have a picture of you, especially one where you 
looked so . . ."

Scully shut her eyes and smiled.  So, he'd loved her even 
then, even as she'd pushed him away time and time again to 
exist in her private bubble of grief.  She rose on her toes 
and kissed his lips.  "I'm touched, Mulder."

"And I'm embarrassed that I'm busted."

"There's nothing wrong with it.  I could see myself doing 
the same."

He pulled her close and rubbed his cheek against hers.  
"Did you love me then?"

She nodded.  "I have for a long time, even if I wasn't able 
to admit it to myself."

"Perhaps if we'd gone to that seminar on partnership 
communication, Scully."

"I don't know," she said, shrugging.  "I choose to think 
that things are happening now because this is when we're 
ready."

He squeezed her hand and let it go, stepping back to look 
around the living room.  "I don't really know why I wanted 
to come here.  It doesn't evoke many memories, except for 
the pictures.  This could be anyone's house."  Mulder 
sounded faintly disappointed.

"Maybe that's why you came here.  Shall we go?"

He nodded and they headed back out into the cold, locking 
the door on the way out.

Back in the car, Scully stared at the imposing houses they 
passed- Colonial, Victorian, Georgian, Mediterranean, Tudor 
. . . The only architectural style she'd known as a child 
was Navy Issue.  She'd spent her childhood in base housing, 
accustomed to living in  modest houses that looked almost 
exactly like everyone else's.  Mulder had grown up in the 
rarefied air of wealth and privilege, a world she hadn't 
even been able to imagine as a girl.  Not that money meant 
happiness.  Just look at the Mulder family for an example, 
she thought.

"So, where did you make reservations?" she asked.  "The Red 
Roof Inn?  The Sleep Cheep Motel?"

Mulder turned to her and flashed a crooked grin.  
"Something like that, Scully."

As long as there's hot water and a bed that doesn't sag too 
much, I'm in heaven, she thought.  Let's face it, I've 
become a cheap date over the years after motels everywhere 
from Saskatchewan to Louisiana.

A few blocks later they pulled in front of a stately 
Victorian house, pale cream wood with gray-blue trim.  
There was a wide porch along the front of the house and a 
snowman in the yard, wearing a jaunty fedora and a scarf.  
"We're here," he announced.  "The Thrifty Scotsman was 
booked, so we'll have to make do."

She noticed a discreet sign at the door.  The Cosgrove 
House.

Her mouth opened in wonder and surprise.  "A bed and 
breakfast, Mulder?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging casually.  "I watch Martha 
Stewart, I know all the stuff that makes for a well-rounded 
sensitive kind of guy."  He hopped out of the car and went 
to the trunk to get out their bags.

Scully found a small, pleased smile spreading on her face.  
So, he does have a romantic side, she thought.  Even as he 
had been deeply enmeshed in his grief the night before, 
he'd wanted to please her.

A small foyer led to a living room splashed with sunlight 
through picture windows framed with diaphanous white 
curtains.  The furniture was an eclectic mix of antique 
pieces like the rose satin chaise lounge and modern 
touches- abstract paintings on the walls and funky 
sculpture.

A small woman with bobbed silver hair looked up from the 
computer resting on the rosewood escritoire in the far 
corner of the living room.  "May I help you?" she asked, 
smiling.

They approached her, heels tapping on the glossy parquet 
floor.  "I'm Fox Mulder," he said, extending his hand.  "We 
spoke last night on the phone."

She nodded and stood to shake his hand.  "Oh yes.  My name 
is Eliza Barnett.  My husband and I own this house.  
Welcome."

They shook and Mulder turned to touch Scully's arm.  "Dana 
Scully," she said, not waiting for Mulder to introduce 
them.  "This is a beautiful house, when was it built?"

"Charles Cosgrove had it built for his wife and five 
children in 1889.  When Dan and I bought it twelve years 
ago, it was in terrible disrepair.  It had been used as a 
commune and I don't think any upkeep was done for almost 
twenty years.  Slowly, we've been renovating and now it's 
at the point where we think it's almost as good as new.  It 
was always our dream to quit our jobs and open an inn."  
Mrs. Barnett smoothed her hair and sat back down, slipping 
on a pair of half-moon reading glasses.  "Now, Mr. Mulder, 
you reserved a double room, but I'm afraid a mistake has 
been made."

Suppressing a groan of disappointment, Scully watched 
Mulder's face fall.  "Excuse me?" he asked in a bewildered 
tone.

Mrs. Barnett tapped some keys on her computer.  "I 
discovered that all the double rooms were actually 
reserved, so I've decided to give you the carriage house, 
which is vacant."

Scully only hoped the horses weren't still living in the 
carriage house.

The older woman smiled.  "Actually, I'm doing this as a 
favor to an old friend.  The carriage house is the nicest 
part of the inn.  You can have it for the regular double 
room rate."

In confusion, she and Mulder looked at each other.

Mrs. Barnett's face grew serious.  "I knew your mother for 
almost a decade, Mr. Mulder.  Teena and I were both on the 
board of the Historical Preservation Society.  She was a 
wonderful woman and a dear friend and I'll miss her 
greatly.  I would have mentioned the connection last night, 
but it didn't seem appropriate on the telephone."

Mulder nodded.  "That's very kind and generous of you, Mrs. 
Barnett."

"Teena always spoke fondly of you.  I'll be at the service 
today, too."  She opened a desk drawer and drew out a set 
of keys.

She led them through the living room and kitchen to the 
back door, limping slightly.  "It's just down the walk," 
she said, pointing.  "I'd show you around myself, but my 
arthritis is bothering me.  Will that be all right?"  She 
pointed to a small house that was nearly a miniature of the 
main house, only without the porch, set back a distance 
down a curving back sidewalk.  "Normally, you can reach the 
carriage house by going around the side of the house.  It's 
stocked with plenty of wood and if you need anything, be 
sure to call me."

"Thank you," Mulder and Scully said, nearly in unison.

"Check out time is 1 pm," Mrs. Barnett said, handing over 
the keys to Mulder, "and I'll bring the breakfast over at 9 
am, unless you have objections to that hour.  I usually 
just set it on the table and you can come down for it 
whenever you'd like."

"That sounds great," Scully said, opening the door.

"Enjoy your stay."

As they walked down the sidewalk to the carriage house, 
Scully mused that it would be difficult indeed not to enjoy 
their stay at the Cosgrove House.

If only they hadn't come to Greenwich at the behest of 
tragedy.

As soon as the door to the carriage house was unlocked, 
Scully and Mulder turned to each other in astonishment.  
Horses, indeed.

She took Mulder's hand.  "It's perfect."

And it was, a jewel box miniature of the main house- a 
shining parquet floor topped with a paper thin Persian rug 
in rich tones that matched the jade green couch and the 
wine red of the chairs.  Glassed-in bookcases flanked the 
fireplace and over the mantel was a framed pen and ink 
sketch of the carriage house itself, as it must have looked 
when the Cosgrove family owned the house-a horse and surrey 
proudly standing outside the building.  Scully touched the 
ornate victrola sitting in the corner and smiled.  "It's 
like being in another world," she said, marveling at the 
way the Barnetts had been able to use so many antiques, yet 
managed to avoid a dusty attic atmosphere in the room.

Just off to the side was a kitchen with modern fixtures and 
a gray slate floor.  They found the refrigerator stocked 
with water, juice and fruit. On the opposite end of the 
kitchen was a small breakfast nook, the wood table gleaming 
with polish and the windows offering a view of the snow-
covered back yard and the proud lines of the main house.

Scully shook her head in amazement.  It was hard to believe 
horses and carriages had once occupied these gracious 
rooms.

Back in the living room, Mulder grabbed their bags and they 
climbed the narrow, musically creaking stairs to the second 
floor.  

Scully stopped in her tracks as soon as they entered the 
bedroom.  The room was large and airy, dominated by a four-
poster bed of cherry, covered with an eiderdown comforter 
of a simple cream shade, which pleased her immensely.  She 
hated fancy-shmancy bedspreads.  A delicate dressing table 
of matching wood made her want to sit down and pin her hair 
up into a pompadour or lace up her corset.  She smiled at 
the image, wondering if the romance novels she'd read as a 
young teenager had ultimately done some permanent brain 
damage.

There was yet another fireplace in the bedroom, with a 
basket sitting nearby, neatly stacked with wood.  She loved 
drifting off to sleep to the smell of wood smoke and the 
crackling of the flames.

Mulder's voice came from the bathroom.  "Scully, you've got 
to see this."

Usually, those words from him meant a body covered in 
mysterious slime, so she moved to the bathroom with 
reluctance.

She gasped as she entered the bathroom.  The modern age had 
been skillfully grafted onto the Victorian structure and 
the sunken bathtub was at least as big as her entire 
bathroom at home.  "A dream come true," she said, well 
aware that her eyes were most likely popping out of her 
head.

"I know how you feel about baths, Scully," he said, running 
his hand up and down the smooth white porcelain.

"If I could live in the tub, I'd give it serious 
consideration."

Mulder glanced at his watch.  "The funeral starts in a 
little over an hour.  We should probably get cleaned up and 
changed."

She'd nearly forgotten, in the wonder of this lovely place, 
why they'd come to Greenwich.  "Where is the funeral?"

"The Methodist church here in town."

"Were you raised Methodist?"  While she and Mulder had 
discussed her faith and religious upbringing, they'd never 
really touched on his.

"No," he said.  "My dad was an atheist and my mother was 
raised in a strict sect of the Dutch Reform church, where 
the girls weren't even allowed to wear pants.  When she got 
married she stopped going to church altogether."

"Then why the Methodist church?"

"Aunt Jean left the family religion behind when she 
married, too.  She and my uncle joined the Methodist 
congregation and apparently my mother started going with 
them a few years ago."

She touched his face, rough with almost two day's growth of 
beard.  "You need to shave, Mulder.  You look like a hobo."

He grinned.  "Nag, nag, nag."  He unzipped his bag, took 
out a toilet kit and went into the bathroom.

From the garment bag, Scully took out a black suit.  It 
felt like years since she'd worn anything but pajamas or 
leggings and she found herself excited to slide on a pair 
of black pantyhose and fasten the tiny buttons of the wool 
jacket.

She turned to catch her reflection in the dressing table 
mirror.  The Dana Scully who had been missing for several 
weeks stared back at her, cool, poised and professional, 
ready to interrogate a suspect or head into the autopsy 
bay.  She realized how much she'd missed that woman and 
felt a renewed desire to return to work, even if it was 
just mindless paperwork.  In her bag she found the pair of 
heeled black pumps she'd brought and slipped them on, once 
again seeing the world from the vantage point of her heels.

Agent Scully was back.  Maybe not 100% yet, but she was 
once again ready to take on the world.

The bathroom door opened and Mulder came out, shirtless and 
with his jeans halfway unbuttoned, the sides of his face 
still bearing faint traces of white shaving cream.  "Hey, 
Scully, have you seen my contact case?"

She blinked at him innocently.  "No, did you forget to pack 
it?"

"I swear I remember putting them in my bag, but I must not 
have."  He went back into the bathroom and she stifled her 
laughter.  Truth be told, she liked him better in his 
glasses, and had slipped his lens case out of his 
toiletries kit just before they'd left for the airport, 
hiding it in the bottom drawer of the bathroom vanity, in a 
place she knew he'd never think to look- a box of Tampax.

He re-emerged from the bathroom, his face now wiped clean 
of the shaving cream, again wearing his glasses.  Mulder's 
mouth opened.  "Wow, Scully."

"Wow, what?"

His hands and eyes ran down the buttons of her suit jacket.  
"Now there's the woman I remember fondly."

"I'm ready for action again."

Mulder gave her a decidedly lascivious look, a look he'd 
shot her many times in the past when he'd tried to tease or 
provoke her.  "Hmm . . . no time for that," he growled and 
flicked his tongue in the hollow of her throat.

Steeling herself, she gently pushed him away.  "Get 
dressed," she ordered, despite her horrible desire to push 
him on the big, sinfully comfortable-looking bed and undo 
those jeans of his all the way.

Scully wondered, was it a sin to have such thoughts before 
a funeral?

While Mulder dressed, she sat at the dressing table and 
applied her makeup.  She hadn't really worn any since the 
case in New York and it felt good to smooth the foundation 
on her face, to cover the hated mole over her mouth, to 
make her lips stand out with a coat of wine red stain.  
With a final squirt of perfume at her wrists, she looked up 
to see Mulder standing behind her, fully dressed in his 
charcoal gray suit and a sober black tie covered with tiny 
white dots.

He lifted her chin with his fingers.  "God, you're 
beautiful."

Mulder had never said it to her, not in those words.  
Scully looked at herself in the mirror and for that brief 
moment, she was.

"The magic of cosmetics," she said, shrugging self-
consciously.  She knew she wasn't beautiful by the common 
definition of the word, being short, having slightly 
irregular features and freckles, but seeing herself through 
her lover's eyes, she was breathtaking.  

"No," he said, nuzzling her temple.  "With make-up, 
without, first thing in the morning, covered in alien goo, 
you're gorgeous."

The heat began to rise at an alarming rate in her body and 
she had to will herself not to respond to his touch.  "Not 
now," she said, shaking her index finger like Sister 
Immacula used to when catching boys and girls dancing too 
closely together at St. Rose of Lima mixers.  "We'll never 
get out of here."

Mulder nodded and again his features took on a somber cast 
as if he were remembering their destination.

If only we could, she thought with a private sigh.  If only 
we were here for no reason other than ourselves.

She stood and tugged at his tie to straighten it and picked 
a loose thread off his lapel, reminding herself of watching 
her mother giving her father the once-over when he was 
about to head out the door in dress uniform.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

He nodded.  "As ready as I'll ever be."

"No one is ever ready to go to the funeral of a parent, 
Mulder."

His eyes were sleepy and sadder than she'd ever seen them, 
even in the throes of his pain the day before.  "I'm glad 
you're here with me, Scully."

"I am, too."  She squeezed his hand and they headed out the 
door to the car.


End of (10/16)

Increments by Dasha K. (11/16)

If you want to read the whole story in a big chunk, you can find it at 
http://dasha.simplenet.com/increments.html.

Disclaimers, etc. in the first part.

dashak@aol.com

Chapter Sixteen- Echoes in a Shallow Bay


They were both quiet on the ride through the dark Greenwich 
streets.  Scully was leaning back in her seat with her eyes 
shut and Mulder wondered if she was sleeping.  If she were, 
he could hardly blame her.  Trudging through airports, the 
flight, the funeral, the gathering at his aunt's house-it 
had been the longest of days, especially for a woman 
recovering from a severe injury.  He was ready to throw 
himself in bed and pass out, and he had no wounds on which 
to blame his exhaustion.

He stopped at a red light and Scully's eyes opened.  "Are 
we there yet?" she asked, mimicking the whine of a child on 
a car trip.

"A few more blocks."  The light turned green.  "Sorry I had 
to inflict so many relatives on you tonight."

She grinned.  "It was kind of fun, in a bizarre way.  
Besides, you've had to deal with my family so many times, 
it was about time . . ."

"You and my aunt seemed thick as thieves on the couch.  
What were you talking about?"

Lifting one eyebrow, she shook her head.  "I can't tell 
you.  Girl talk."

"Ah, so you were talking about me."

"She wanted all the pertinent information about us."

"She's always been a nosy woman," Mulder said.  "I got a 
less than discreet inquiry when I helped her carry that ice 
up from the basement freezer."

"She means well, Mulder."

"Speaking of Aunt Jean, she brought up something important 
tonight.  I'm the one who has to take care of my mother's 
affairs.  Tomorrow I have to see her lawyer about her 
estate.  My aunt witnessed the will and she left me the 
house and most everything else."  He sighed, the exhaustion 
pressing on him even harder.  "I'm going to have to stay a 
few more days to put the house on the market and deal with 
her things.  But I don't want you to have to go home 
alone."

Scully brushed his arm with her fingertips.  "It'll be 
okay."

"Maybe you should just stay up here."  What if she's in 
pain, he thought, what if she has more nightmares?

"I have to go back.  I've got a doctor's appointment 
tomorrow afternoon and therapy, too."

"Can your mother stay with you?"

She flashed him a look of annoyance.  "Mulder, I'm fine."

"So you say . . ."

"I'm telling the truth.  I will be okay on my own.  I'm 
driving, I'm mobile, I'm past the point of onset of 
infection, I'm just about healed."

"If you're sure, then I guess it'll be all right."

Mulder got the eyebrow treatment again.  "Oh, I didn't 
realize I needed your permission to live alone in my 
apartment."

With Scully injured and weakened, he'd forgotten how 
willful, how determined she truly was.  Once she made up 
her mind, there was little anyone else could do about it.  
Besides, she was right, she was a doctor and eminently able 
to assess her condition.  To tease her out of the 
crankiness he could feel rising in her, he growled and 
flexed his bicep.  "Yeah, I'm the man and I'm in charge, 
little lady."

She pursed her lips.  "I hope you remember what a good shot 
I am, manly man."

He had to laugh at that.  "I remember it every time I look 
down in the shower, Scully."

"Good.  A souvenir from me to you."  Her face brightened.  
"I can't wait to use that bathtub."

He pulled the car into a spot in front of the Cosgrove 
House.  "I hope you don't drown.  Do you think you might 
need a lifeguard?"

"Mulder, did I ever tell you I was the conference champion 
in the 400 meter freestyle in high school?"

She had told him that.  He wondered what they hadn't 
learned about each other on endless road trips, diner meals 
and stakeouts.   Mulder opened his car door.  "If you get a 
cramp, holler and I'll perform mouth-to-mouth."

Scully hopped out of the car and gave him a disgusted look, 
which cheered him immensely.

They walked up the narrow path on the side of the house to 
the carriage house.  "Are you hungry?" he asked, feeling 
the familiar rumble in his empty stomach.  All they'd eaten 
that day were some muffins at National and cheese and 
crackers at his aunt's house.

"I'm starving.  I noticed some takeout menus in the 
kitchen.  Maybe we can get something delivered."

Inside, the carriage house was softly lit by the Chinese 
porcelain lamps, warm and glowing with color.  Scully 
headed upstairs to change while he hung their coats in the 
closet.

Her voice floated down the stairs.  "Mulder, get up here."

He headed up the stairs and stopped in the doorway, stunned 
into speechlessness.

Scully smiled.  "Heaven is here."

Mulder nodded.

The bedroom was lit only by a fire merrily burning in the 
hearth, which made the walls glow a warm vanilla.  He saw 
that a gray and white checkered cloth had been spread in 
front of the fireplace and on it was laid a picnic supper.

She squeezed his hand.  "Did you have anything to do with 
this?"

He shook his head.  "I wish I had thought of it."

She examined the dishes on the cloth.  "God, Mulder, 
poached salmon, spinach salad."  She lifted a wicker basket 
and sniffed.  "Sourdough bread."

Touching a silver ice bucket on the dresser, he smiled.  
"And a bottle of Chardonnay."  He lifted the green bottle 
out of the ice to examine the label.  "Do we have a fairy 
godmother?"

"It's about time our luck changed for us . . ."  Scully 
sank onto the bed and began to slip off her black pumps.

"Why don't we get out of these clothes," he suggested.

Scully lifted her head and grinned.  "I think with a setup 
like this you're supposed to put on your best Barry White 
voice and say, `Why don't you slip into something more 
comfortable, baby.'"

"Sorry.  I slept in a lot when I was taking Seduction 101."

Scully went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind 
her, and he heard the gush of the faucet from within.  He 
gratefully removed his suit and put on a black tee shirt 
and jeans.  Finally, he could relax after the overwhelming 
stress of the day.

Settling in front of the fire, he found a small note on the 
cloth, next to a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.  

*I'm sure you two have had a long day, so please enjoy some 
dinner on us.
	Tom and Eliza Barnett*

It was true, they did have fairy godparents.

Scully emerged from the bathroom, wearing a bathrobe that 
was new to him, the palest cream silk splashed with 
abstract red poppies around the hem.  She'd washed off her 
makeup and he was pleased to notice the reappearance of the 
absurdly sensual beauty mark above the curve of her upper 
lip.

"I started the tub," she said, sitting down beside him.  
"It'll take a long time to fill something that big."

He passed her the note and she shook her head.  "Just when 
my faith in the human race is nearly gone, something like 
this reminds me that there are good people out there."

Mulder didn't respond, too engrossed in the way the folds 
of her robe were parting to reveal the gentle curves of her 
cleavage.  Had it really been only a day since he'd last 
touched her breasts?

They piled their plates high with their surprise dinner, 
moaning in appreciation of the first real meal all day.

Scully tipped her head back to drink from her glass of wine 
and he wanted to lean over and take a Dracula bite of the 
smooth flesh of her neck.  She licked a few fallen drops of 
wine from her lower lip.  "This is the first time I've had 
wine since-"

"We should have a toast," he said, lifting his glass.

"To our new life," she said, clinking his glass with her 
own.

"To our new life," he repeated.  "Working, living, loving.  
Together.  No secrets, no lies."

Abruptly, she looked down into her lap and he wondered what 
he'd said to make her face go so pale.

She looked up, blue eyes huge and impossibly sad.  "Mulder, 
I have to tell you something."

Here it comes, he frantically thought, here is where she 
tells me that it can't possibly work, that this is a 
mistake, that she can't, doesn't, won't need me, want me, 
love me.

Her voice was small and he noticed how her hand shook as 
she gripped her glass of wine.  "Something happened today 
at the cemetery.  I wasn't going to tell you because this 
has been hard enough on you, but Mulder, I can't lie to 
you."

He touched her hand, trying to reassure her, and himself.

"When I left you up at your mother's gravesite and went 
down to the car, I saw him.  The Cancer Man."

Anger flared in him, tensing all his muscles at once and 
making his mouth go dry.  "What the hell was he doing 
there?"

Scully took a fortifying sip of her wine.  "He told me he 
was there for personal reasons, Mulder."

He shut his eyes.  So it was true, everything he'd begun to 
suspect over the years about his mother and that man.  The 
anger was replaced by a thick blanket of sorrow as he 
realized how he'd never truly known his mother.  How he 
never would know.

"It makes me angry," she said.  "A time like this should 
have nothing to do with those people.  This is us, this is 
our personal business but he had to pop up to remind us 
that we have no private lives, that everything we do has to 
do with them."

Sighing, he nodded.  There was no escape for them, not even 
on the day of his mother's funeral.

"Was I wrong to have told you?" Her voice sounded unusually 
high and girlish.

Mulder opened his eyes and tried to smile for her benefit.  
"No," he said.  "I don't want us to keep secrets from each 
other.  Not now, when everything is different."

The stakes have changed considerably, he thought, looking 
at the mournful features of the woman he loved.  He had 
dragged her into this mess that was his life and now it had 
become her life, too.  The game, the quest, had become hers 
as much as his.

He wasn't going to wallow in guilt about it, as he had done 
so many times in the past.  She had told him herself that 
if she'd wanted to leave, she would have done so a long 
time before.

Ah, the many joys of co-dependency.

Leaning over, he kissed the smooth rice paper of her cheek.  
"We'll find a way," he said.  "We're not going to let them 
ruin what we have that's honest and good."

Her face took on a fierce cast.  "I'm a fighter, Mulder.  
And so are you."

Mulder broke a piece of bread in two with his fingers.  
"That's why I like you, Scully.  You're a spunky little 
thing."

"Don't mess with me," she warned. "I have a butter knife 
and I know how to use it."

He smiled at her, loving, as always, when they had an easy 
flow of banter between them.  Her snappy comebacks had been 
one of the first things he'd loved about her.  From the 
very first, she hadn't been intimidated by his reputation.  
She'd stood up to him, all 5'2" of her, looking him 
straight in the eye, ready to sass back with impunity.

"We're going to be okay," he said, more to reassure himself 
than her.

"We always are."

After they'd finished eating their spectacular meal, Scully 
rose and went to take her bath.  He neatly stacked the 
dishes and carried them down to the kitchen, placing them 
in the sink, and returned to sit by the fire and tiredly 
stare at the flames.

Over the sound of splashing and the hissing of the fire, he 
heard Scully's voice from the open bathroom door.  "Mulder, 
can you come here for a second?"

"Are you all right?"

"I need your help."

He grinned.  Most likely, she'd had her fill of the bath 
and needed a hand out.  He'd be more than glad to provide 
assistance.

In the candlelit bathroom he found her up to her neck in 
lavender-scented bubbles, her red hair pinned up and her 
face rosy and softly glowing from the heat.  "May I be of 
service?" he solemnly intoned, like a butler.

Scully languorously stretched one slender white leg out 
from the soapy blanket that covered her.  "My back needs to 
be washed."

He sank to his knees at the side of the tub.  "Do you have 
a washcloth?"

Her lower lip stuck out, just a little.  "No washcloth 
here, I prefer hands."

Before she could finish her sentence, Mulder was already 
stripping off his shirt and jeans.

Slowly, he eased into the tub, the water hot almost to the 
point of being unbearable, but once he was all the way in, 
it felt soothing to his muscles, which ached a bit from his 
run the day before.  Scully moved forward so he could sit 
behind her and she sat between his legs.

He picked up a handful of bubbles and made slow circles on 
the smooth expanse of her back.

"I'm never getting out of this tub," she said lazily, 
stretching her arms wide.

"Never?  Eventually you'll have to pee, Scully."

She bent her head and shook with laughter, as he continued 
to run his hands over every inch of her back, reveling in 
the softness under his fingertips.

"Eventually you'll want to get out," he whispered in her 
ear, moving his hands to cup the soft weight of her 
breasts.

"Why is that?" she replied breathlessly.

"Because of what I plan on doing to you."  One thing he'd 
learned about Scully in the past days was that she found 
words to be as stimulating as touch.  Scully liked to 
listen.  And he liked to talk.

Her arm reached back to touch his hair.  "What are you 
planning?" she husked.  He loved how when Scully was truly 
aroused, her voice dropped nearly an octave, becoming as 
deep and smooth as single batch bourbon.

Leaning forward, he pressed his growing erection into her 
lower back, into the spot where he knew the serpent was 
etched into her skin.  "You remember that bed out there?  
I'm going to pull the bedspread back and lay you down on 
the sheets.  And then I plan on spreading those pretty legs 
of yours and you're going to be so wet for me, Scully."  
She groaned from the back of her throat and ground her back 
into him, the friction making his skin, despite the heat of 
the water, break out into goosebumps.  "I'm going to lick 
you, Scully, every inch of your sweetness until you're 
crying out for more and grinding yourself into my face."

His hand snaked over her thigh and between her legs, and 
yes, she was already slick with arousal, swelling and 
readying herself for him.  He felt the rush of his power, 
that he could make her hot, get her wet, make her heart 
beat faster with her need for him.

"Oh God," she keened.  She grabbed the edge of the tub and 
shifted around so she was sitting on his legs, his 
straining cock almost inches, shit, just inches from the 
place he so longed to be.

Their mouths crashed together in a wet and messy jumble of 
tongues and lips, tasting of wine, tasting of raw desire, 
tongues twining and plunging and making him harder than he 
ever believed possible.  Just a few inches, all he had to 
do was move her hips up a bit and down again and he could 
be buried in her finally.  Two as one.

Water splashed from the tub and slopped over the edge and 
she giggled in mid-kiss, stopping to trace his earlobe with 
her sinuous tongue.

"We've got to get out of here," he muttered through his 
clenched jaw.

She tilted her head.  "I kind of like it here."  And then 
his cock was enclosed in the underwater grip of her 
fingers.

Madness, it was absolutely insane how turned on he was.  
"Out of the tub, now," he ordered.

She licked her lower lip.  Tease.  Scully must have been 
hell on wheels in high school, driving the boys at Catholic 
school nuts with a flip of her red hair and one of those 
glances through her lashes.

"Scuh-lee," he whined.  Holy shit, she'd reduced him to 
begging.  After nearly six years of the frustration of a 
platonic partnership, he had little pride when it came to 
Scully.  There was no point, really.  They'd been through 
nearly every human experience together.  At this point, 
pride was wasteful and foolish.

Her face softened and she moved off his legs to allow him 
to stand.

It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to get to his feet 
with his muscles stiff from running and weakened with 
desire, but he was determined to get them both out of the 
tub and into bed.  He helped Scully up and watched as 
rosettes of soapsuds slid down her full breasts.

A sight like that might very well prove the existence of 
God, after all.

Mulder stepped onto the terra firma of the tile floor and 
reached for a bath towel from the rack.  He handed it to 
Scully, hating to cover her glorious nudity, but not 
wanting her to grow cold.  She wrapped the towel around 
herself and began to undo the pins holding up her hair.

He stared in rapt fascination, enjoying watching her in her 
unconsciously feminine rituals.  He always had liked 
catching her brushing her hair or applying lipstick in the 
car mirror.  Women were a strange and wonderful species and 
spending so much time with Scully made him feel like an 
anthropologist on field assignment.

Scully turned to him and laughed.  He looked down at 
himself, stark naked and sporting an erection, dripping 
water and bubbles all over the floor.  He had such a one-
track mind he'd forgotten to get a towel for himself.

After he'd gotten himself reasonably dry, he looked to see 
Scully standing before him, her towel now shed and 
discarded on the marble counter.  A smile curved her rosy 
lips.  "Let's go to bed, Mulder."

"Do I have to carry you?"

"Do we look like Scarlett and Rhett?"  Her warm fingers 
entwined with his and together, they walked to the bed.

He turned off the lamps, so the room was lit amber with the 
flames of the fire.  Scully turned back the bedspread and 
settled on her side on the mattress.  She flashed him a 
decidedly self-conscious look, which he found sexier than 
any come-hither stare.  

Scully broke the aura of silent tension in the room.  "I 
believe you made some promises in the bathtub, Mulder.  Are 
you going to make good on them?"

He nodded.  As he slid in bed next to her, he remembered 
the night, hardly a week ago, when he'd first lain in bed 
with her, watching a movie with her to chase away her 
nightmares.

There won't be any bad dreams for us, Scully.  Not tonight.  
It's time for us to put the nightmares behind us.

Scully turned to him, eyes bright in the firelight.  
"Whatever happens tonight, it's right."

Nodding, he rose to move over her, wanting to touch the 
contours of her body so much his hands were shaking.  He 
bent his head to kiss her, hands slipping to touch the 
firmness of her breasts, to tease her nipples into hard 
points.  She groaned in approval, lifting his chin to nip 
at the flesh underneath.

Careful to support his weight on his forearms and not press 
into her stomach, he began to paint circles on the silken 
skin of her breasts with his lips, softly kneading and 
pulling until she arched her back and made soft noises in 
her throat.  It reminded him of playing an instrument, 
applying various speeds and pressure to produce different 
noises from her.

Mulder felt her spread her legs wider beneath him and 
understood her overwhelming need to be touched.  One of her 
hands gripped his shoulder and the other began to circle 
and tease his own nipples, which send a jolt of electricity 
and all the remaining blood supply in his brain straight 
down to his groin.

"Mulderrrrr," she moaned and he lifted his head from her 
breasts.

"You rang?"

Her smile was full and inviting.  He felt one of her legs 
rise and wrap around his lower back and he jerked as he 
felt his cock suddenly press against her slick entrance.

Just one push, he thought, just one tiny push and I'll be 
there.

He shook his head.  "We can't," he gasped as every cell in 
his body silently screamed we can, we can, we can . . .

Suddenly, he was very, very afraid.

Scully's eyes were half-lidded with drowsy desire.  "You 
won't hurt me."

"The doctor-"

Just one push.

She cut him off with her fingers on his lips.  "I'm a 
doctor, Mulder and right now I'm saying that what I need is 
you inside me.  Now."

He bent to kiss her again.

God, if he somehow hurt her . . .

His thought was interrupted by the upward tilt of her hips 
and the softness of her hand enclosing him and oh 
shiiiiiiiiiiiit, guiding him in.

In.  Inside.  Inside Scully.  Long slide, in, in, in, a 
tight wet fist surrounding him, together at last, together, 
in, in, all the way.  Inside Scully.

He hadn't even realized he'd shut his eyes until he opened 
them gain and looked down at her face, preternaturally 
glowing, smiling at him.

"You're not hurting me," she teased.

"I haven't gotten started yet."

The grip of small hands on his backside reminded him to do 
so.

When he'd given himself the license, he'd always imagined 
that if he ever got the chance to make love with Scully it 
would be a late night in a small town, on the threadbare 
sheets of some seedy motel.  A night tinged with the stench 
of death, a fierce coming together to forget, to fuck away 
the blood and the loss, two bodies crashing and flailing 
together in the wake of the pain.

But no, this was slow, a languid movement in and out of her 
depths, like swimming, like moving through the currents of 
a quiet sea.

Scully had been right, making love with her was remembering 
not the agony that shadowed them, but the good times, the 
surprising moments of joy in their years together: the 
late-night meals shared in roadside diners, the private 
jokes, shooting the breeze in the basement office, taking 
turns driving down an endless ribbon of highway.

They moved together in unhurried synchrony, completing the 
dance they'd begun the first day she stood in his office, 
young and hesitant, but with an unspoken challenge in her 
eyes.

Over the crackle and hiss of the fire they breathed 
together, one being, one creature of flesh, faster and 
faster.  He was drowning in her skin, the soft press of his 
hands on her shoulders, the wine sweet taste of her mouth.

He almost entirely forgot about hurting her.  There was 
only her gentle sounds of delight, and his.

Scully's other leg rose and locked around his back and he 
gasped as his cock slid deeper into her.  Her pelvis moved 
harder against him and he sensed her approaching orgasm in 
the sweet tightening of her internal muscles.

He wanted to brush her face with his hand, but he feared 
losing his balance.  Instead, he whispered, "Just let go, 
Scully."

"Oh yes," she hissed, face twisting in concentration.  "Oh 
yes."

She shut her eyes and opened them again, wide and staring 
at him with such love and affection that he almost had to 
halt his thrusting to keep himself in line.  Then he felt 
the rippling of her climax, gripping him over and over 
again and he watched as she gave herself over to her 
orgasm, coming with a deep sigh of release.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven and-he was lost to 
it, too, finding her mouth as he was washed out to sea, 
lost in the undertow of keen pleasure in every nerve of his 
body, bucking into her with force, all pretense of caution 
lost forever.

And then it was gone, fading from his body and leaving only 
a warm glow behind.  All he wanted to do was start all 
over.

He moved them onto their sides and withdrew, already 
greedily wondering when he could be inside her again.

Mulder touched her face, covered with a light sheen of 
sweat.  "Are you okay?"

She nodded and he felt immense relief.  Finally, she found 
her words.  "I'm much better than okay."  She stretched out 
an arm as if to prove her point.  "I told you so."

He pecked her forehead with his lips.  "You always have to 
be right, don't you?"

"No, that's you, Mulder." She curled into him.  "Any 
regrets?"

"Only that I didn't bag you sooner."

She snickered.  "Bag me?"

"Yeah, you're a hot babe," he said, feeling the exhaustion 
seeping into his bones and muscles.

Scully kissed him and somehow she tasted different.  She 
tasted like she was his now.

Silly, really, she'd been his for a long time.

He wasn't going to mourn the years wasted.

His eyes closed of their own volition.  He felt her pull 
the goosedown quilt over their bodies.  

Just before sleep approached, he heard her whisper, "I want 
you to know how happy I am."  He wanted to tell her he was, 
too, but his brain would not cooperate.

And then it was quiet, except for the popping of dying 
embers.

End of (11/16)

Increments by Dasha K. (12/16)

Disclaimers and everything in part one.

dashak@aol.com		

Chapter Seventeen- Thirst

Scully woke sometime in the middle of the night, terribly 
thirsty and a bit achy and cold, as all the covers had 
somehow migrated to Mulder's side of the bed.

She climbed out of the tall bed and found her bathrobe.  
The fire had nearly burned out and the room had become 
drafty from the open flue.  Tottering on legs that twinged 
with overuse of long-dormant muscles, she went to the 
fireplace and added a few more logs and some newspaper.  
She touched a long match to the pile and set the hearth 
ablaze again.

In the bathroom she downed a few ibuprofen and brushed the 
stale taste of wine and sex from her mouth.  Slowly, she 
drew her eyes up to her reflection in the mirror.

Mulder and I made love, she whispered to her reflection.

Her reflection, wearing a head of mussed copper hair and a 
purpling bruise on her neck, smiled back.

It didn't feel strange or new.  It felt a bit stiff and 
sore, but that was to be expected when a woman has 
intercourse only three weeks after a serious injury, she 
reflected.

She touched her lips, swollen from kissing.

Scully poured herself a glass of water and returned to sit 
in front of the blazing fire, a hypnotic swirl of color to 
her drowsy eyes.  She heard the bedcovers rustle and then 
Mulder's still-sleepy voice.  "What are you doing, Scully?"

Turning, she smiled to see him yawning and scratching his 
chest.  "I'm watching the fire."

"Come back to bed."

Scully wrapped her arms around her silk-clad knees.  "I 
will in a minute."

He got out of bed and loudly groaned as he fumbled for his 
boxers.  So, she wasn't the only one a little sore.  
Granted, his soreness was from running, but still . . . 
Bemused, she watched him stumble for the bathroom.  He 
emerged a few minutes later, smelling like soap and 
toothpaste, to sit next to her, companionably draping his 
arm around her shoulders.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"You stole all the covers.  I was cold."

"Yeah, I tend to do that . . ."

"I've noticed," she said, smiling.

"Guess I'll have to get used to sharing."

"Yes, you will."

Mulder turned to her, his face serious and sleepy at once.  
"You know, we can't go back to the way things once were, 
Scully."

She nodded.  "I know.  I've known since the first night you 
slept in my bed, as innocent as that was."

"Sometimes I-" he faltered for his words, rubbing the 
stubble on his chin.  "Sometimes I get the feeling you're 
unsure of this, unsure of us."

Scully sipped from her glass of water and set it down on 
the slate hearthstones.  "How long have we known each 
other, Mulder, six years?"

He nodded.

"You might have noticed in all that time that I don't allow 
a lot of people to get close to me.  I've always been that 
way, to a certain extent.  I spent my childhood moving to a 
new base every two or three years.  It was easier to keep 
to myself than to say goodbye."

"I know, Scully."

She stared straight ahead at the dance of flames upon wood.  
"You're the first person I've let get this close in years.  
Perhaps ever.  It scares me a little."

"I don't want you to be afraid of this."

She took his hand, callused from weight lifting and 
basketball, and squeezed.  "I don't either.  But I need you 
to understand, and accept, that I'm going to be struggling 
with this, at least for a while.  It doesn't mean that I 
don't love you, or that I'm not fully committed to being 
with you, or that I'm going to leave, just that I'm going 
to have my moments of fear and insecurity and I'm going to 
have to deal with them."

"Whatever you need to do, Scully, that's fine."

Another swallow of water slid down her throat.  "Did I ever 
tell you why Jack and I broke up?"

Mulder shook his head.

"We were together for seventeen months.  It was my first 
real adult relationship and for the most part, we were 
happy.  Jack was older and had been my instructor before we 
got together, but it wasn't a father-figure thing.  Did you 
know we had the same birthday? On my twenty-eighth and his 
thirty-fifth birthday, he took me out for a fancy dinner 
and after the dessert was served, he proposed to me."

For a brief moment she closed her eyes and pictured the 
dinner at Les Pleiades, Jack in his best blue suit, she in 
green velvet.  She saw the eager and expectant look on his 
face as he removed the small velvet box from his pocket and 
handed it to her, saying "I love you, Dana, and I can't 
imagine spending another day without you by my side.  Will 
you marry me?"

"Jack had bought me a gorgeous engagement ring, emerald cut 
in a platinum setting, exactly my style.  I looked at it 
and realized it symbolized everything I thought I wanted-
marriage to a good man whom I loved, a house, kids, a 
Golden Retriever, everything.  But as I sat there I knew 
that if I married Jack I wouldn't just be myself anymore.  
I'd be Dana Willis, a wife.  I'd have to share parts of 
myself that I wasn't willing to bare."  Her hands fumbled 
to further articulate her words and she shook her head.  "I 
couldn't give myself to him like that, in the way he needed 
me.  I told him no and that was the end of it for us.  I 
hurt him, Mulder, and it took me years to forgive myself 
for it."

"You were simply being honest, Scully."

She sighed.  "I know, but I also felt like a failure, that 
I was so afraid of getting close to anyone that I pushed a 
man I loved, who loved me, out of my life."

Mulder traced the line of her cheekbone with his index 
finger.  "Are you afraid you'll do that with me?"

"Yes and no.  It's different now, I've changed and you and 
I have an understanding that Jack and I never did.  We've 
been through so much together.  You know me like no one 
else ever has."

"And you know me," he said, nodding.

"That's why I can tell you that I'm fully committed to 
this, despite my fears.  You know all of me.  You've seen 
me at my worst-cold, a control freak, a bitch on wheels . . 
."

"You're none of those things."

She rolled her eyes.  "Don't try to flatter me. I know I 
can be all of those things at times.  But when I'm with you 
I want to change, be more affectionate, more loving.  When 
it's you and me on a personal level, you bring out a better 
side of me and I like it."

Mulder pulled her into his arms and began brushing light 
kisses along her hairline, kisses meant only to comfort and 
reassure, but she felt the beginning of an erotic charge 
all the same.  When he finally spoke, his voice was steady.  
"Whatever you want, whatever you need, Scully, I want to 
give it to you."

And here I thought he was the emotionally scarred one, she 
thought.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in to catch 
the faint whiff of sex on his skin.  "I want it all," she 
whispered.  "I'm not going to hold back anymore, if I can 
possibly help it.  I can't hold back, not with you."

"I'm damn lucky to be the one you chose," he said solemnly.

She watched his eyes in the flickering firelight as they 
turned a green that was nearly jade.  God, he loves me, she 
thought, still astonished it was true.  "No, I'm the lucky 
one, Mulder."

Her hands found the knot of her bathrobe's sash and she 
drew open the silk folds to bare herself to him.  He'd seen 
her nude countless times over the past days, but she still 
felt strangely exposed to his gaze.

"Be with me now," she whispered, her heart already beating 
in anticipation.

"Gladly."  He lowered her to the rug to enfold her lips in 
his, to draw her tongue into the heat of his waiting mouth, 
to skim the curves of her shoulders and breasts with his 
fingers.

Her need for him at that moment was so great she almost 
began to whimper.  Never before Mulder had she experienced 
such a rush of desire to be possessed and to possess.  With 
impatient hands she yanked off his shorts and pulled them 
down around his knees.  He was fully hard and ready for 
her.

She rolled onto her side, facing the fire.  Scully glanced 
over her shoulder to see him still kneeling, astonishment 
written all over his face.  She drew her knees up slightly.

"Inside me, now," she said and heard him laugh.

"I'm not going to argue with you."  She felt him settle 
behind her and his mouth applied wet kisses on each bump of 
her vertebrae.  His hand parted her thighs and his fingers 
dipped into her, emerging to wetly circle her clitoris.

She reached an arm back for him.  "Inside me," she 
repeated, pushing her buttocks to rub against his pelvis.  

Mulder didn't need to be told again.  He draped an arm 
around her waist and she heard him grunting as he slowly 
slipped inside her, inch by inch.  His fingers began to 
circle one of her taut nipples and he pulled out of her 
with astounding slowness and then pushed back in at the 
same speed.

"Tell me how I feel, Scully," he rasped, withdrawing again 
so that only the head of his cock was still inside.

She shut her eyes, feeling the heat of the fire on her face 
and a different kind of heat between her legs.  "I can't," 
she gasped.

Mulder began to move in short, shallow strokes, merely the 
head of him moving in and out and she whined in 
frustration, wanting the sensation of him buried in her to 
his balls.  His breath quickened in her ear and his teeth 
latched onto the lobe and pulled.

"Please, Scully, I need to hear it," he said between 
breaths.

She found herself panting, too.  "I feel . . .frustrated . 
. ." she managed to say.  "I want more, I want all of you 
inside me."

But he kept at his maddeningly small thrusts, just the tip, 
in and out, in and out, his fingers continuing to circle.  
She writhed her bottom against him, even though it made her 
stomach muscles ache.  She didn't care, she wanted him 
deep, she needed him all the way.

"You're killing me," she sighed, beads of sweat trickling 
down her face.  "All the way, Mulder, please . . ."

In one fluid plunge he came inside fully, slamming into her 
with force.  Scully tossed her head.  "Oh God, that hurts."

He stopped.

"No," she growled through gritted teeth.  "Don't stop, it's 
a good hurt.  All the way, Mulder."

"Oh Scully," he sighed, thrumming a steady rhythm into her, 
pushing her side into the rug, splitting her, so hard, so 
fucking hard.

She stared at the flames, allowing her free arm to creep 
down between her legs and stroke her clitoris, as hard and 
swollen as Mulder's cock.  Stroke, thrust, stroke, thrust, 
stroke . . . aaaaaah . . .   the waves began to break 
through her body with devastating force.

Mulder cried out with her as she hit the wall of her. "I 
can't . . . hold out . . .I can't . . ." he groaned.

"Don't hold back," she begged, pulling at his thigh to try 
to bring him further inside her.

He thrust into her one last time and she heard the happy 
agony of his voice as he spilled into her and she felt his 
muscles slacken in exhaustion.

For a minute their world was comprised of the two of them, 
still joined, panting in near unison.

His voice finally returned to him, lazy and replete.  "I 
don't think I'm ever going to be able to move again."

She laughed and wriggled out of his grasp.  "We have to.  I 
don't want to ruin this beautiful rug."

"Why do you think Resolve was invented?"

"Mulder . . ." Despite the loveliness of lying together in 
front of the fire, she was practical at heart.  She sat up, 
muscles burning.

He caught the pained expression on her face.  "Shit, I hurt 
you, didn't I?"

"It's nothing a hot shower won't cure."

She stood, smothering a groan at the ache in her thighs and 
stomach.  She shot him a mock-vamp expression over her 
shoulder.  "Come on, loverboy."

Laughing at her uncharacteristic behavior, he finally 
stood.

Under the torrents of water from the double showerhead, 
they washed each other clean.

"We seem to be spending a lot of time in the shower 
together," Mulder commented, smoothing soap on her 
shoulders.

She cocked an eyebrow.  "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Hardly."  He leaned forward and kissed her.  "You know, I 
think we're pretty good at this."

Scully wiped bubbles out of her eyes.  "Do you mean sex?"

"Yeah."  He grinned.

"It's all about partnership, Mulder."  She bent back to 
rinse the shampoo out.

At times like that, she was so sure of herself, and him, 
sure they could be happy together.  She simply needed to 
allow that sensation to last throughout the day. Take it 
day by day, she thought, like a recovering alcoholic.  If 
you look at the big picture too much, you'll end up scaring 
yourself.

Her hair rinsed, she straightened up and wrapped her arms 
around his water-slick body.  I love you, she thought, and 
soon I'll be ready to really tell you so.

Clean and dry, they slid into bed again.  Scully rolled 
onto her side and sighed happily as he curled around her, 
back to chest.  She would never tell him, but it felt 
incredibly safe to be held like that in bed.

"This wasn't the worst day of my life, after all," he said, 
following it with a yawn.

"I'm glad, Mulder."

"It's easier, somehow, when we're together, working 
together . . ." his words slurred into sleepy meter.

"We're together," she whispered, stroking his arm until she 
heard his breathing even into slumber.

End of (12/16)

Increments by Dasha K. (13/16)

Disclaimers and all in part one.

dashak@aol.com- feedback adored


Chapter Eighteen- Away

i like my body when it is with your
body.  It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling-
firm-smoothness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like slowly stroking the shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it-comes
over parting flesh . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new.

e.e. cummings


As the plane idled on the runway awaiting takeoff, Scully 
shut her eyes and willed herself to sink into sleep.  
Crammed into the window seat, she tried to stretch her 
aching legs and wondered how someone as tall as Mulder bore 
so many flights.  She loosened the seatbelt, for it was 
digging into her stomach too much for comfort.

She felt herself smiling at the reason why her legs and 
stomach muscles were sore.  It was nothing a hot bath and a 
session with Shelagh, her physical therapist, couldn't 
help. It had been worth a little discomfort.

Her fingers clutched into fists as the plane sped down the 
runway.  Even after hundreds of flights over the past 
years, takeoff unnerved her.  She had intimate knowledge of 
the physics of plane flight, but a small, stubborn part of 
her brain refused to believe such a huge piece of metal 
could safely soar into the air.  Scully squeezed her eyes 
tighter and silently said a quick prayer.

In accordance with the laws of physics, the Washington 
D.C.-bound flight left the ground and soon New York City 
was far below.

Scully's ears began to pop and she reached under the seat 
for her purse, rummaging around for the pack of gum she'd 
tucked inside at the airport gift shop.  She spotted a 
card-sized envelope of creamy white wedged between a copy 
of Newsweek and her wallet. Her name was scrawled across 
the front in Mulder's distinctive handwriting.  He must 
have slipped it inside while she was in the bathroom.

Smiling, she opened the envelope and drew out a 4"x6" 
photograph.  It was the birthday party picture of Mulder 
and her on the couch.  She hadn't even noticed that he'd 
taken it from his mother's living room.  Mulder could have 
a fine career as a pickpocket if the Bureau ever let him 
go, she thought, remembering how once he'd gone so far as 
to steal a laptop computer from a crime scene without 
anyone noticing.

She stared at their faces in the photo, unaccountably 
happy-looking, even in the midst of what was one of the 
darkest seasons for them.  Looking at their body language, 
the way they were smiling at each other and seemed to be 
entwined even though they weren't even really touching, she 
wondered how the truth had eluded them for so long.

The heat of a hundred new memories flooded through her mind 
and tears filled her eyes.  She brushed them away with the 
back of her hand, blinking rapidly.

The passenger next to her, a very proper elderly woman in 
an expensive violet wool suit, smelling strongly of Arpege, 
gently touched her arm.  "Are you all right, dear?" she 
asked, concern on her face.

Scully put the photo back in her purse and nodded her head.  
"Oh yes," she said.  "I'm fine."

And for once, she meant it.


As soon as he returned to Greenwich from the airport, 
Mulder checked into the Sheraton and then met with the 
realtor to draw up the paperwork to put his mother's house 
on the market.  In the late afternoon he drove to the house 
with a carload of boxes, to tackle her belongings.

The first floor was easy.  Except for the books and 
photographs, everything was to go to a women's shelter his 
aunt has recommended, being a member of their board.  He 
phoned them and they promised to send out a truck and some 
volunteers the next afternoon to pick everything up.  All 
the furniture upstairs, and her clothes, would go to the 
House of Ruth, too.  He'd offered the pick of his mother's 
wardrobe to his aunt, but she'd demurred, since she was 
taller than her sister had been.

The shining mahogany jewelry box on top of the dresser was 
more difficult.  There were some lovely things in there-a 
string of luminous pearls, a pair of diamond studs, some 
sapphire and diamond tennis bracelets.  Some of the jewelry 
had been given to her by her parents, some by his father.  
He briefly considered giving it all to Scully, but rapidly 
dismissed the thought.  She wasn't one for flashy 
accessories and it seemed somehow morbid to lavish her with 
his dead mother's jewelry.

He set the box aside, deciding to place it all in a safety 
deposit box.  Perhaps someday, somehow, he'd have a 
daughter who might appreciate having something that had 
once belonged to her grandmother.

Mulder closed his eyes and pictured a young woman, tall 
like him, with wavy red hair and blue eyes.  He knew he and 
Scully would never have that daughter, but he couldn't help 
imagining her all the same, wondering whose nose she'd get, 
or if she'd smile like Samantha or Melissa.

There are other ways, he told himself.  Having a family 
doesn't necessarily mean the traditional method.

He wondered if they'd ever survive to even consider the 
possibility.

His mother's desk and dresser drawers revealed no secrets, 
no letters, journals or mysterious photos.  It shamed him 
that he'd hoped that he might find something.  It was all 
rather impersonal, neat files of bills and tax returns, 
correspondence for the various charities she'd been 
involved in over the years. Nothing private, nothing 
intimate, nothing that revealed the Sphinx-like state of 
his mother's life.

Mulder hauled trash bags full of old bills, magazines and 
toiletries to the trashcans out back.  He emptied out the 
cupboards and set out the boxes and cans of non-perishables 
for the shelter. He tried his best not to associate the 
cans of tomato soup and copies of Vogue with the woman who 
had just a few days before lived and breathed and been his 
mother.

It was easier that way.

Around 7:00, as he was knee-deep in winter coats, the 
doorbell rang.  Ah yes, Aunt Jean, here to nosily check on 
his progress.

Instead, he opened the door to reveal a small man bundled 
in an ancient Army surplus parka.

"Hey Mulder," Frohike said.

"How-how did you find me here?"

"I called the enchanting Dr. Scully and she told me that if 
you weren't at the hotel, you'd be here."

"What are you doing all the way up here?"

Frohike shrugged.  "I heard the news and had a feeling you 
needed a drink with a buddy."

"So you came up to Connecticut?"

"What can I say?  I'm a nice dude."

Mulder barked out a laugh and went to grab his coat.


Shivering in her paper gown, Scully swung her legs as she 
perched on the examination table.

Even though she was a doctor herself, she hated hospitals 
and doctor's offices.  The medicinal smells, the endless 
waiting and ancient magazines.  The sterile atmosphere 
reminded her of far too many visits in her life.

Opening her sticky and matted eyelids, throat raw from 
tubes, to see the astonished face of a nurse.

Her vigil by Mulder's bedside in Alaska, sleepless days and 
nights in the same stinking clothes as he fought the 
retrovirus.

Watching the monitor display the slowing heartbeat of 
Melissa as she gripped her mother's papery-dry hand in her 
own.

Mulder's ashen face when she told him the news of her 
cancer.

Emily, thrashing and feverish in her small white bed.

The searing pain left by a bullet that had ricocheted 
through her abdominal cavity.

She shivered again and wondered why examination rooms were 
always chronically under heated.

The door swung open and Denise Purcell, her internist, 
strode in, chart in hand.  Scully smiled to see her in 
doctor's mode, remembering the two years they were 
roommates in medical school, sharing a tiny apartment and a 
love for gin and tonics on Friday nights to unwind from 
another week of crushing stress.

"Well, Dana," Denise said, shaking her head of long bead-
tipped braids.  "I'm impressed.  Your labs look great, your 
muscle tone is better than I expected.  I'd say you're 90% 
there."

"I'm a speedy healer," Scully quipped and then she had a 
brief, nauseating flash of Fellig's face.  

Close your eyes.

No, it wasn't true.

"You've obviously been working hard at your PT."  Denise 
set the clipboard down on the desk and sat down.  "I think 
you should still see Shelagh for a while.  I'll let her be 
the judge of how long."

"Can I still go back to work on Monday?"  She realized she 
sounded a bit like a child begging to be allowed back to 
school after a case of the chicken pox.

"Monday is fine, but only mornings for two weeks.  After 
that, you can try out full days, but only office work.  
None of your running around in the field and getting shot 
at."

Scully groaned at the thought of being chained to the 
government-issue metal desk in the bullpen.

Denise smiled in sympathy.  "I know it's not what you want 
to hear, but I don't want any undue stress on your body 
until it has fully healed."

How about the stress of a 180-pound man on top of my body, 
she thought, and stifled a laugh.  She looked up at 
Denise's face and felt a wave of heat spread across her 
cheeks.

Tilting her head, Denise said, "Is there anything else 
you'd like to discuss?"

Scully looked down at her hands folded in her paper-covered 
lap and wondered why she was so embarrassed to bring up the 
topic of sex to Denise.  Ridiculous, she was a fully-grown 
woman, a doctor herself, not some sixteen year-old trying 
to get a prescription for the Pill.

She felt the touch of Denise's hand on her arm.  "Dana, you 
seem to be embarrassed.  White girls like you give it all 
away when you blush.  But you know that whatever you tell 
me stays in this office and I'm not going to be 
judgmental."

"I know."  Scully sighed and made eye contact with Denise.  
"I was just wondering if it is too soon for intercourse."  
Such a dry word for what had happened between Mulder and 
her the night before, and that morning.  Funny how she'd 
been able to beg Mulder, loud and clear, to fuck her, and 
now she was stumbling over "intercourse."

"I'd say your body is the best judge of when the right time 
is.  If it doesn't hurt too much, then it's fine.  Simply 
try to avoid positions that place a lot of strain on your 
abdomen."

Suddenly, the self-consciousness fled.  This was Denise, 
who was not only her doctor, but a friend.  "So, you're 
saying that if, hypothetically, I had sex last night, you 
don't think there will be any ill effects?"

Denise peered at her over the tops of her wire-rimmed 
glasses.  "Like I said, your body is the best judge.  How 
does your stomach feel today?"

"It's fine, just a little sore as if I did too many 
crunches at the gym."

The other woman laughed.  "Dana, speaking as an old friend, 
not your doctor, is there someone new in your life?  We 
haven't really talked about personal things in a while."

Scully shifted on the table.  "I don't really feel 
comfortable talking about it.  Not here."  She pointed at 
her paper-clad torso.  "Not in this getup."

"I can see your point.  Tell you what, you're my last 
appointment today.  John is in Chicago on business.  You 
want to grab some dinner and catch up?"

On her walk with Mulder just a few days ago, she'd realized 
how much she missed having close girlfriends in her life, 
having other women to confide in, gossip with, connect in 
the way that only women could.  A smile spread on her face.  
"I'd love to, Denise."

The rest of Chapter 18 in Part 14.

End of (13/16)

In case you are wondering, parts 15 and 16 will be posted later today or 
early tomorrow morning.  If you want to read the story in a big chunk, you 
can find it at http://dasha.simplenet.com/increments.html.

Increments by Dasha K. (14/16)

Disclaimers and other fancy stuff in part one.

Feedback is revered at dashak@aol.com.

Chapter Eighteen, continued from Part Thirteen.


Trust Frohike to find the one bar in genteel Greenwich that 
could be classified as even vaguely seedy, Mulder thought 
as he downed his second shot of Jack Daniel's and chased it 
with a sip of beer.  

They were in the darkest corner of a place called 
Hennessey's, that stank of old cigarette butts and french 
fries and was populated by a steady stream of furtive-
looking old men.  Frohike's face was red and he was 
rambling.  "So then we came up against a 64-bit encryption 
string, so I found my man in Singapore and he shot me some 
hot shit ice to break it.  I'm telling you, Mulder, my 
kung-fu was on fire . . ."

Mulder was only half-listening to his friend's hacker tall 
tales.  The alcohol speeding through his bloodstream made 
his head feel as if it was stuffed with lead.

The part of him not paying attention to Frohike was back at 
the Cosgrove House, waking up with his chest pressed 
against the silk of Scully's back, smelling the musky tang 
of sex and wood smoke in the air.

"You with me, man?"  He blinked as Frohike snapped his 
fingers in front of his eyes.

"Sorry, it's the booze."

The little man grinned crookedly.  "Sure it is, Mulder.  
I'd say your mind drifted to a much more pleasant spot than 
this hole, like the bed of a certain redhead we both know."

It was an effort to keep a straight face.  "I have no idea 
what you're talking about."

Frohike signaled the bartender for another round.  "Never 
bullshit a bullshitter, as my father always said.  You 
haven't set foot in your apartment since you brought her 
home from the hospital."

He shrugged.  "What can I say?  I'm an excellent 
nursemaid."

"Mulder, when you were over the other night, I'd never seen 
a man moon around as bad in my whole life, and I live with 
Byers, the original hopeless romantic."

He laughed, thinking of poor Byers' string of relationships 
over the years.  "Okay, I'm not gonna lie to you.  We're 
together now."

The bartender, a pot-bellied man in a stained white apron, 
slammed two more shots of Jack on the table.

"Geez, it took you two long enough.  I was starting to 
think you'd gone gay, cause how else could you be around 
such a hottie without wanting to get into her pants?

"It's been more complicated than that, Frohike."

"What's complicated?  You two have been hot for each other 
since day one."  Frohike leaned forward and peered at him 
through smudged lenses.  "So, is Scully a wildcat in bed?  
It's those frosty, aloof gals who leave the scratches on 
your back."

"I'm not gonna tell you that.  I don't do locker room 
talk," he protested, while part of him wanted to tell 
Frohike just how astounding sex with Scully really was.

"You're no fun," Frohike grumbled.  "But you know I like 
her, right?  Scully is good people.  She can be a bitch, 
but she keeps you in line, and God knows, you need that.  
And the woman loves you, that much I do know.  The night 
when I went to see her, when we thought you were dead, I've 
never seen a woman so shattered underneath that cool 
surface, you know?  Yet, she went out of her way to comfort 
me.  That's a real woman for you."

"That's Scully," he said and downed his shot, wincing at 
the burn as it went down his throat.

"You better treat her right or I'll kick your ass, Mulder."

"What if she doesn't treat me right?"

"Then I'll kick her ass. I'm an equal opportunity ass-
kicker."

"She'd clean the floor with you, Frohike."

Frohike grinned.  "Yeah, she probably would.  Now that's 
the kind of woman a man like you needs."


As the winter wind rattled the windowpanes, Scully slipped 
into bed.  She felt a mild buzz as she tucked the covers 
around her and arranged the pillows.  It wasn't from dinner 
as she and Denise had each had only a single glass of 
Chianti with their pasta.  No, it was something else.

She was horny, she realized with a laugh that echoed across 
the bedroom.  Sore or not, as exhausted as she was, she 
wanted more of him.  She wondered if she'd ever get enough.

The skin of his back was so soft, like tender baby flesh . 
. .

No, don't think that, she told herself.  It will never 
happen, not for us.

She was sick and tired of mourning the children she'd never 
have.  It was non-productive since there wasn't a damn 
thing she could do about it.

At dinner, Denise had mentioned how she and John were 
trying to get pregnant.  Scully remembered the awkward look 
that had passed on her friend's face as she remembered that 
Dana would never be able to conceive.  Denise had hurriedly 
gulped down a sip of wine and said, "Oh, shit, Dana, I 
wasn't thinking."

It irritated her that everyone in her life thought that 
since she was infertile, all mention of babies, conception 
and biological clocks had to be strenuously avoided.  She 
wasn't a delicate flower who would collapse in tears at the 
thought.  Millions of women were in the same boat as she.  
It didn't stop her from delighting in her nephews, or 
stopping to cluck at adorable babies in their strollers.  
And it wouldn't make her begrudge Denise's happiness if she 
did get pregnant.

Infertility was a horrible thing, especially when 
deliberately done to a woman, but she could think of many 
worse things.

Still, she paused to picture what their child might look 
like, a mix of her blood and Mulder's.  Just as quickly as 
she conjured it up, she pushed it away.  It was foolish to 
dream of what she could never have.

It didn't mean she was any less a woman, or that she and 
Mulder couldn't have a rich life together without children.

And it also didn't mean she couldn't mourn the loss from 
time to time.

But not tonight.  Better to glory in what was new and good, 
to embrace the fullness of a life that now included love.

Scully turned off the lamp and rolled onto her side, 
waiting for sleep.  But she found she couldn't let go.  The 
room was too quiet, the sole sound the beating of her own 
heart and the wind outside.  She'd grown accustomed to the 
sound of Mulder's breathing in the dark and the rustling of 
the sheets as he found a comfortable position in which to 
sleep.

This is completely out of hand, she thought.  You slept 
alone almost every night for six years and now you can't?  
Have you really grown so weak, so dependent?

IwillnotcallhimIwillnotcallhimIwillnotcallhimIwill . . .

But she found herself reaching for her cell phone and 
dialing the number that was as familiar to her as her own 
name.

Mulder answered on the fifth ring, his voice deep and 
slurred.  "Mulder here."

"Did I wake you?" she asked.

Now he sounded more alert.  "Are you okay, Scully?

She lay back against the pillows and shut her eyes.  "I was 
just thinking that the bed's too big without you."

He laughed low in his throat.  "I was thinking along the 
same lines."

End of (14/16)


Increments by Dasha K. (15/16)

Disclaimers and the rest of the hopscotch in part one.

Feedback to dashak@aol.com



Chapter Nineteen- Home

As soon as he awoke, a glance to his right informed Mulder 
that yes, indeed, he was back home with Scully.

Home.  She'd been the one who'd said, "Welcome home," as 
he'd shambled through the door with an armload of luggage.

There was no doubt about it, he was home.  And for the 
first time in days he felt well rested, refreshed and 
judging by what was happening in his boxers, raring to go.

Scully was sprawled on her back, one arm flung over her 
head, which pulled the cream silk pajama top she was 
wearing up and bared the gently curved skin of her belly, 
revealing the pink line of her healing scar.

The sight of the pajama top made him freeze in horror.  
When he'd arrived home at 9:00 pm, they'd shared a quiet 
dinner together at the kitchen table, talking over their 
days apart.  Then, he hit the shower and her bed, waiting 
for Scully to wash up and join him for the big homecoming.  
And the next thing he remembered was waking up in full 
morning.

He'd fallen asleep on her.  Three days apart and he conked 
out on her bed without so much as a kiss goodnight.  
Granted, he'd gotten very little sleep during his time in 
Greenwich, too plagued by remorse and mourning to relax 
enough to sink into slumber in his hotel room.  But still, 
he wondered how Scully had been able to restrain herself 
from slapping his inert form awake.

She tossed her head and moaned in her sleep, but her eyes 
remained closed.  Mulder hoped that whatever she was 
dreaming of, she was having a better time that he'd shown 
her last night.

Slowly, he drew back the covers and saw she was wearing a 
pair of bikini panties that matched the pajama top, satiny-
looking and edged with lace at the top.  Bestill his 
fragile and horny little heart, a few dark red curls peeked 
around the lace.

Mulder's mouth began to water.  It was morning, after all, 
and he was hungry.

He rolled on his side and brushed his fingers on the swell 
of her breasts, watching as her nipples stiffened to 
gumdrops under the silk of her pajamas.  It never failed to 
thrill him that even in sleep, the physiology of the human 
body was still operational.  He slipped open the buttons of 
the top, baring the compact voluptuousness of her breasts 
to his eyes, the translucent skin that showed a sprinkling 
of tan freckles and the intricate tracery of blood vessels 
just beneath the surface, the pinkish-brown aureole 
crinkled in response to stimuli.  A few more circles of his 
fingers and Scully shifted a bit, but still she didn't 
wake.

Mulder allowed his eyes to travel south, to the silky 
little panties again, and his fingers followed, sliding 
between her spread legs, where she was plump and full and 
delicious.  Yes, he knew this from experience now.

He had to have a taste.

Feeling like a cat burglar, Mulder crept down to the end of 
the bed, trying to think of a clever way to remove her 
panties without waking her.  Finally, he conceded defeat 
and simply hooked his fingers on each side and slowly drew 
them down her legs.

He felt her stir and begin to sit up.  "Mulder?" she said 
in a thick voice.

"Yeah?"

A sleepy laugh escaped from her.  "This is the best of all 
possible ways to wake me in the morning . . ."

Mulder smiled.  "I'll be sure to make a note of that on my 
Things to Please Scully List."

The beauty of making love in the morning was that he got to 
see everything in the bright light of day-the reddish 
tangle of her pubic hair, the small brown mole on her inner 
left thigh, the glistening flower of her vulva revealed as 
he spread the lips apart with his fingers, the swelling bud 
that was her clitoris.

He hardly knew where to start first.

Fingers first, he told himself, and he dipped them into her 
growing slickness, deliberately sliding around and around 
her clitoris, but not quite touching it.  Scully growled 
deep in her throat and arched up into his hand.

So, he wasn't the only one who had a morning appetite.

Mulder loved how greedy she could be in bed, like a child 
who wanted all the candy at Easter.

The air around him filled with the dusky scent of her 
arousal and it made him even hungrier and harder.  He bent 
her knees and lowered himself to her, in his favorite 
supplicant's position, ready to begin his worship.

After a few long strokes of his tongue she was rotating her 
hips and humming happily, a low sound of carnality.  This 
morning she tasted dark and smoky, like a cup of Lapsang 
Souchong and he ravenously slid his tongue along the 
slippery inner surface of her lips and up to push her hard 
clit back and forth.

Scully hooked her legs over his shoulders and began a 
stream of unintelligible sexual nonsense.  Speaking in 
tongues, Mulder giddily thought and fought back a laugh as 
he pushed one and then two fingers into her warmth, her 
juices flowing freely down his hand and into his waiting 
mouth.

There had been so many times he'd pictured a morning like 
this as he'd lain on a motel bed with his fingers wrapped 
around his stiff cock, Scully sleeping just on the other 
side of a thin wall.

Dreams did come true, every once in a while.

Her hips began to rhythmically rock back and forth and her 
vocalizations changed in tone, became deeper and less human 
sounding.  How he loved to see her lose control and 
transform into an animal, ruled only by her desire.  As he 
began to thrust his fingers in and out of her harder, she 
gasped and went absolutely still and her fingers tightened 
their grip on his neck.

Bingo, he thought in triumph, as she exploded around him.

Once she stopped contracting around his fingers and went as 
limp as overcooked pasta, he crawled up the bed to her, 
well aware that his cock was peeking out of the slit in his 
boxers.

She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back 
like a cat, which made him enormously glad to see that 
she'd healed enough to do that without a wince of pain.  
"This makes up for last night," she said, hair glinting 
gold and copper in the sunlight.

Mulder shook his head.  "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, you were exhausted.  You can make it up to me."

He chuckled.  "I thought I just did . . ."

"That's not what I was talking about."  With a tug, his 
boxers were down and he was free, finally free.

She smiled, a dangerous smile he'd learned to spot from 
her.  "How about if I do the heavy lifting?"

Oh God, he nearly lost it right then and there.  "Will it 
be too strenuous for you?"

"Only one way to find out."

He was certainly not going to argue with her.  He lay down 
and she sat up, shaking her head of short waves.  Scully by 
candlelight was great, but a naked, flushed, satisfied 
Scully in morning sunshine was worthy of a commemorative 
oil painting to be hung over the fireplace.

With languorous ease, she straddled him and without 
preamble, he felt her hot tightness sliding around him.  
Mulder gasped at the exquisite sensation and his hands rose 
to the gentle flare of her hips to support her as she began 
to leisurely rock up and down his length.

Mulder silently thanked her for the slow pace, for anything 
more would send him off far too soon.  His eyes moved down 
to where they were joined and he was rewarded with the 
pretty sight of his cock moving in and out of the red 
forest between her legs.

"Is this okay?" he whispered between harsh breaths.

"Oh yeah," she said, her eyes glazed with a sweetly tender 
expression.  She shut her eyes and her head tipped back.

Scully in sunlight, her breasts round and full, her lips 
parted and wet, her skin soft under his hands. She ground 
her pelvis into him, going after what she wanted, pushing 
him even deeper inside.  It was like a brilliant, beautiful 
psychedelic vision from the few times that he'd dropped 
acid at Oxford.  His voice joined hers in another inhuman 
cry as she continued to sinuously move with him, to take 
him in deep strokes.  She was so good at this, where had 
she learned to be so fucking good?

Overwhelmed by his need to see her face and body contort in 
pleasure again, he let one hand move to brush against her 
clit, and as if in retaliation her own hand dropped back 
and cupped his balls.  Mulder couldn't quite conceal his 
howl of delight.  So close, no don't, he frantically 
thought, but it was too late, his orgasm waterfalled around 
him, endless waves of pleasure.  Somewhere, on the edge of 
it all, he heard her crying out with him.

So, the simultaneous orgasm wasn't a myth, after all.

Limp and sweating, she rolled off his body and curled up 
with her head on his bare chest.  He wrapped his arms 
around her small frame, marveling at the strength she 
concealed in such a tiny package.

"Don't go away again," she muttered into his skin and he 
stifled a laugh while at the same time feeling an expansion 
somewhere deep inside.  Was that Dana Scully who had really 
said that?

She lifted her head and blinked sleepy gray-blue eyes at 
him.  "You know, you haven't even properly kissed me yet."

He pinched her round bottom.  "Sometimes I like to shake up 
the normal routine, so it's not just point A to point B to 
point C.  Don't want us to get into a rut."

Moving up his body, she brushed her lips against him.  "I 
think we still have a lot of exploring left to do, Mulder."

His eyebrows lifted.  "Oh yeah?  Are you thinking about 
stuff like tying up and garter belts and hauling out the 
Camcorder?"

Scully's gurgling laugh tickled his chest.  "Well, sure.  
But I was mostly thinking about all the positions left to 
be tried . . ."

The pages of the Kama Sutra rapidly flipped through his 
mind.  "What's your favorite, Scully?"

She made a face.  "I can't tell you that."

"Why not?  If you tell me, we can do it sometime."

"It's hard for me to talk about sex, if you haven't 
noticed.  My mother never talked to us about it.  I learned 
everything from Missy, but all I ever did was sit and 
listen to stories about her exploits."

"You can't get what you want unless you ask for it, 
Scully."

With delicate precision, she applied a kiss to each of his 
eyelids, the tip of his nose, the underside of his bottom 
lip.  And then she bit her own lip, apparently thinking.  
"Okay," she finally said.  "But you have to promise not to 
laugh."

"I'm not going to laugh," he reassured her.

"When I, from time to time, let myself fantasize about you 
before we were together . . ."

Mulder interrupted her.  "You used to fantasize about me?"  
He knew the grin on his face was of the shit-eating 
variety.

Scully's cheeks developed a rosy stain.  "Of course I did.  
Are you going to let me finish?"

"Go on . . ."

"Anyhow, I sometimes let myself think about you . . . you 
know . . . taking me from behind."

His mouth went dry from anticipatory lust.  "But we already 
kind of did that."

The color in her cheeks deepened.  "Yes, we did and it was 
wonderful.  But what I'm talking about is being on my hands 
and knees and you behind me, or being bent over the desk in 
our old office."

It would seem that he and Scully had had some strangely 
similar fantasies over the years.  They were Oscar-caliber 
actors, keeping it all hidden behind their professional 
facades.  "The desk?" he asked hopefully.

She shook her head.  "We'd cause one hell of a ruckus if we 
did it in our current quarters."

"I miss our old office," he moaned.

"We couldn't have done it there, either.  I'm sure it was 
bugged."

"Yeah, I know, but a man can dream, can't he?"

"No harm in that," Scully said and slid off his chest to 
nestle against his side.

He yawned and pulled the sheet up, feeling the tug of post-
coital exhaustion.

"It's good to have you home," she said, apparently feeling 
just as sleepy as he was.

He nodded and then from somewhere in the recesses of his 
swampy mind, he heard himself speaking.  "You know, my 
mother's neighbors across the street made an offer on the 
house and I accepted it.  With the money we could get a 
condo around here, something nice and big, maybe a porch, a 
big kitchen, hardwood floors . . ."

Mulder felt a small wave of horror as he sensed her 
stiffening beside him.  Scully's cool fingers trailed in 
his hair.  "Mulder, that's a lovely thought, but we've only 
been together for a few weeks."  Her voice was carefully 
tender.

"We've been together for six years."

She sighed thoughtfully.  "You know what I mean.  I think 
that for right now we should leave things as they are, see 
how it goes."

How stupid could he be?  The other night she'd revealed her 
fears of their relationship and now he was hatching plans 
for them to buy condominiums together.  "I'm sorry," he 
said, mentally slapping himself.  "Do you want me to go 
home?  Am I crowding you here?"

She shook her head and kissed him again.  "No, not at all.  
But while we're adjusting to all this newness, I think it's 
a good idea if we have our separate spaces.  There may be 
nights where I need to be alone, or you do."

"I didn't mean to push you."

Scully smiled.  "It's a wonderful idea and we can consider 
later, once we see what happened with our careers and if we 
don't kill each other spending so much time together."

"Sexually speaking, it might happen," he said, relieved he 
hadn't entirely scared her off.

"Maybe we can take up yoga."  Scully paused and then lifted 
his chin so he was directly looking into her blue eyes.  
"Something just occurred to me."

"What's that," he asked, confused by the light tone of her 
voice and the gravity on her face.

"I've been wanting to tell you something, Mulder."

"That I have the biggest penis you've ever seen in your 
life?"

She rolled her eyes.  "No, not that, although you do add 
weight to the old adage about noses and penises."

Mulder smiled smugly.

"I haven't told you this because I don't throw words around 
lightly."  She took a small breath.  "I love you."

He pulled her closer to him, tears beginning to well in his 
eyes.  "I know, Scully, you show me every day."

"It needed to be said, though."

"Yes, it does."  Their lips met and the kiss they shared 
reflected the words spoken.

They parted and shared the grin of co-conspirators.

"Hey, Scully, I love you, too," Mulder said, surprised at 
how easily the words came.

She smiled and touched his face.  "I know, you show me 
every day."



The alarm went off, blaring NPR's Morning Edition.  Mulder 
rolled over, saw it was 6:00 am and hit the snooze button.  
As he fell back asleep, he heard Scully rise and head for 
the bathroom.

The next time he awoke, a finger was poking him in the gut.

His eyes opened to see his partner, Dana Scully, standing 
at the side of the bed, neatly buttoned into a blue wool 
suit with a white blouse, her ID badge affixed to the 
jacket's lapel.

She smiled.  "Time to get up, Agent Mulder," she said 
crisply.  "We have work to do."

Groaning, he got to his feet and made his way to shower and 
dress for another day in the Bureau with his partner.

End of (15/16)

Increments by Dasha K. (16/16)

Disclaimers and all in the first part.

Epilogue- Phoenix

I sit at a table in a bare, white room.  Really, I should 
be afraid, all alone here in this immense silence, this 
sterile box that holds me, but I only feel a tremendous 
sense of security.

The door opens and he walks in, and I recognize the face 
that is nearly as familiar to me as my own, that I once saw 
in so many dreams.  He pulls out the chair and sits 
opposite me, folding his wrinkled hands on the table's 
surface.

His face has changed, I notice.  The studious blankness I'd 
observed so many years before has softened, his features 
now mobile and somehow more alive.

Ironic, isn't it?

He smiles.  "Agent Scully, we meet again."

I nod.

"You didn't take my place, after all."

"No, I didn't."

"You lived seventy-nine years.  Was it enough?"

It's my turn to smile.  "Yes, it was enough."

He runs his fingers through his white hair.  "When I left 
my life behind, I prayed that you wouldn't have to become . 
. . like me . . ."

"It must have worked."

"Now I can tell you what made the difference."  He leans 
forward confidentially.  "You loved."

For a moment I shut my eyes and allow myself to picture the 
faces of my dear ones.  I nod in agreement with him.  "Yes, 
I loved," I say.  "And I was loved."

"That was the secret to it," he says.  And the walls of the 
room fall away and we are surrounded by nothing but bright 
light, the warmth and radiance kissing my body.

I stand.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"Yes."  Finally, I'm ready for this.  It's time.  I can 
feel them waiting for me to join them again, in a place 
where I will never be alone or unloved.

With steady steps I walk into the light.


And then my eyes open and I'm in my bed as the sun makes 
dappled patterns on the bedspread.  The window is open and 
it smells like spring, things growing and blooming.

My lover is still sleeping, his eyes moving behind closed 
lids, obviously dreaming.

His eyes flutter open, gold and green and gray all at once 
and he smiles to catch me watching him sleep.  He reaches 
his arms out to me and I let my body melt into his until 
nothing separates us.

I am me and he is him, but there are rare and wonderful 
times when we become the same person, one creature of 
flesh, blood and breath.

Mulder touches the new tattoo that is drawn on the skin of 
my hip, at the flat of the pelvic bone.  Black ink, 
indelible, a Chinese character etched with skill just a 
week ago.

My first tattoo was born of fear.  This marking comes from 
love.

"The phoenix," he whispers.

I nod.  "You and I always rise from the ashes."  Again and 
again, against all imaginable odds, Mulder and I survive.  
We get knocked down but we heal and survive and with every 
defeat we grow stronger and thrive.

As the light brightens in our bedroom we make love.  We 
share love, passing it back and forth like a gift, the love 
we've created from years shared, tragedies survived, 
injuries healed.

And without separating we fall asleep, entwined in one 
another.

We don't dream, not once, until it's time to wake again.

End.

Now I'm going to take a nap.


Author's long-winded end notes:

Increments never could have been written without the 
friendship, support and consummate anal retentiveness of my 
editors, Gwen and Plausible Deniability.  They both spent 
incredible amounts of time working with me to create this 
story and a simple thank you is not adequate.  I'm thinking 
of making a shrine to them in my living room.  And I have 
to especially thank Analise for being wonderful enough to 
create a book cover for me that turned out better than my 
wildest dreams.

I must also thank some very special friends for support 
above and beyond the call of duty, even if they did not 
realize it themselves: Betsey, Blueswirl, all of the root 
vegetables, Sharon, Sue, Leanne, Deb, Meredith, Kim, 
Alanna, Beth, Matt, Shari and the entire Junkie crew.  And 
extra-big thanks to my family and friends who tried not to 
complain as I chained myself to the computer to work on 
this story.

I also have to shower kisses on the readers who made 
writing my first work in progress a delight.  Your 
encouragement, recipes and nagging made all the difference.

Increments is in memory of my friend Richard Krochok.

Feedback is delightedly received at dashak@aol.com.  Was all 
this time worth it?