Love, The Missing Word I-V Compiled
by
Sarah Kiley


     Special Agent Dana Scully of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation sighed deeply as she picked
her mail up off the floor. It had been a long and tiring
day of routine autopsy after autopsy. A heart attack,
stab wound to the chest that punctured the superior
vena cava, gunshot to the head, massive internal
bleeding, death after death. It was tedious work, and
it had gotten somewhat boring to her. She wanted to
be out on a case again, even if she didn't have
Mulder with her. But going on a case without Mulder
meant having no one to cover her back. No one she
could trust. And so she was stuck in the autopsy lab
at Quantico, doing the routine work that had lost its
flavor when she didn't know the case connected
with the body.
     She shut the door to her apartment, sliding
the deadbolt home as she did so. She tossed the mail
on the table, hanging her long trenchcoat on the
wooden coat rack she had taken from Mulder's
apartment. It had been one of the few things he
couldn't put into storage, so she had taken it in,
along with some other Mulder paraphernalia. She
had also taken his fish tank, complete with fish,
which now sat near her window. She'd also taken
his black leather jacket, but she only wore it when
she missed him. It still carried that certain Mulder
aroma. Scully found herself wishing Mulder were
there constantly, and sometimes it would get so bad
that she would start to cry. But as the first two weeks
had past, she had started putting that loneliness
behind her. After all, it wasn't as if she would never
see him again. She would. It would just be a while
before it happened, that was all. Her crying spells
only came once in a while, and although she was
thoroughly bored, she wasn't very lonely. A corner
of her mouth peaked, and then lowered as she ran
her hand down the length of an arm of his jacket.
She shook her head, and flipped on the TV that sat
on her counter, near her refrigerator. It also had
belonged to Mulder, and she found herself liking
having two televisions in her apartment. She only
needed one, but it was convenient to have one in the
kitchen, so she could open her mail, and make
herself dinner while watching the news.
     She glanced up, staring at a map of  war-
torn Europe via CNN. It was being referred to as
World War III, which was pretty accurate. It had
broken out when the Japanese were released from
their UN treaty of using only 1% of the gross
national product for their military back in '98. The
Japanese had signed a treaty promising to only use
their military for defense, and had steadily built it up
until they were using 20% of the GNP for defense.
     But no one had counted on the
assassination of Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping, and
the quick rise of another leader, Tsung Moai, who
had insisted that instead of modernization, China
needed land and labor. He became a dictator, and
spoke out against the young that wanted a
continuation of the democracy. They were killed or
tortured, eventually submitting to Moai's will. US
forces had been called in to put a stop to Moai,
because of the US citizens living in China. A scuttle
had broken out between Moai's forces and the US,
more troops being brought in.  In the mean time,
Moai had many meetings with the Japanese leaders,
forming an alliance with the archipelago country. So
when the US called in British forces to help deal with
Moai, the Japanese had also come with their forces.
They had stopped trading with the west at the
request of Moai. Japan was suffering economic loss,
and there was an uprising, splitting Japan into two
different countries of South Japan, who had rebelled,
and North Japan, who was loyal to Moai. Country
after country had been drawn in, Moai luring other
countries such as India, dealing with its own
problems, Korea with her nuclear weapons, and
several southeastern states of the Soviet Union. They
had marched across Saudi Arabia to the
Mediterranean, forcing an attack on Italy when it
sided with the US and British forces' to help South
Japan win back its northern counterpart, and rid
China of Moai. This had brought the war to Europe,
different countries siding with different forces.
     President Clinton had put the draft into
effect for all men between the ages of twenty-five
and forty. Because of special circumstances, all
nonessential law enforcement officers had been
included in the draft. The X-Files had been
considered nonessential, their cases falling into the
violent crimes section.
     And so her partner, Fox Mulder, had been
drafted to the war.
     They had only drafted men so far, but
Scully knew that it would soon be put into effect for
young women without children. She had heard
about single fathers having to send their children into
foster care while they went off to war, or leaving
them with relatives, or their mothers. She had put
herself up at the local adoption agency to take in any
children who needed foster care, doing her own part
for the war. Her mom had already taken in Kate, a
young girl of about seven, whose father had been
drafted.
     So Scully had done her part, like her father
would have wanted her to, just like her brothers were
doing.
     B.J. was stationed in South Japan. His wife,
Beth, and their two kids were staying at Margaret's
house. Charlie, her younger brother, was fighting in
Italy, last she'd heard. Anne, his wife and their two-
year-old daughter Sylvia were also staying with
Margaret. Anne was six months pregnant, and Scully
was planning on delivering the baby when the time
came.
     Her mom loved having everyone at her
house, filling it with life again. Scully came by once a
week to catch up on how everyone was, what B.J.
and Charlie had said in their letters.
     But despite all her family, Scully wished
Mulder was there. She remembered when he had
said good-bye to her, a little over three weeks ago.
     They were at the airport. Mulder was flying
to Fort Drum for his basic training, and from there
he would be shipped off to the fighting.
     She stood with him. He carried a knapsack
filled with clothes, and other personal items by the
boarding gate. He was dressed in jeans and an
untucked button-down shirt. Her eyes had started to
fill with tears, but she had held them back, when she
looked up into his face.
     "Hey, it's not forever," he said softly.
     She bowed her head, breaking contact with
his eyes. "I know that, it's just hard."
     He reached out and pulled her into a fierce
hug. She clung to him as if he were a buoy in a
hurricane-strung ocean, savoring the feel of his arms
around her, the scent of him lingering, and his chin
resting gently on her head. He picked her up off the
ground lightly, just enough so she gave a little gasp
of surprise, and then set her down again with a grin.
"We'll be okay, Scully. The FBI couldn't separate
us, what makes you think an itty bitty thing like a
war is going to?"
     She laughed dismally. "It's not just any
war, Mulder. It's World War III, and you're going to
be right in the thick of it," she said. "What if you're
killed, or maimed?"
     "Well, there's a plane leaving for Canada
over there, and I bet I could get a ticket. But I don't
really want to."
     She looked up at him, confused. "Why?"
     "Scully," he breathed. "I only met your
father once, very briefly, but I liked him. And from
what you've told me about him, he faced up to his
duties, and he didn't run away from things. I admire
that. I wish I could be like that. And this is my
chance."
     Scully stared deeply into his eyes, truly
touched by his confession about her father. And she
realized that he was right. Her father would be
ashamed of her for even suggesting that Mulder skip
the draft, and leave his duties, even if it was for her.
Gently, she reached a hand up and touched the side
of his face, lightly. He turned her palm to his lips and
kissed it softly, looking back at her. "I'm going to be
fine, and you are, too. Who knows? Maybe I'll break
a leg in my week-long training, and you can fly up to
stitch me up and take care of me. "
     She laughed, a real laugh this time. Then
she hugged him tightly again, craving his body being
next to hers in a way she had never felt before. She
wanted to keep him here, with her. She wanted to
keep him safe by her side. Instead, he was going up
to Fort Drum and from there, to war. "I still don't
want you to leave, Mulder," she admitted. She was
getting choked up again, and tried to hold back the
oncoming tears. She didn't want Mulder to see her
cry.
     He saw her lower lip quiver like a leaf in the
wind, and recognized Dana Scully trying to hold
back tears. He felt them welling in his own eyes. He
didn't want to leave her. He wished desperately he
could get on that plane to Canada, and take her with
him. But he couldn't. It was his duty to go to war,
his responsibility. And, for once, he was going to live
up to that. Inspired by both his boss, Assistant
Director Skinner and her father, Captain William
Scully, he was going to war. Unlike his father, who
hadn't lived up to his responsibilities, hadn't lived
up to the fact that he was responsible for his
daughter's disappearance, Mulder was going to. But
leaving Scully, willfully leaving his partner, his best
friend behind was going to be hard.
     Not hard, he thought, stealing a glance at
her blue eyes filling with moisture.
     Nearly impossible.
     "I don't want to leave you," he whispered,
his voice cracking. "And I'm coming back, Scully.
One way or another, I'm coming back."
     She took in a deep breath. What she wanted
to do now could change everything, but she didn't
want to leave him without doing it. She didn't want
to forever wonder about something if anything
should happen to him. She had to know what it was
like, had to feel it.
     She put her hands on his shoulders, pulling
him down, and pulling herself up, leaning forward
until their lips met. It was a very chaste, very
innocent kiss that lasted a mere two seconds. But his
lips were soft and warm against hers, and each
second lasted a year in her mind, as she tested the
weight of his lips, their softness, their passion as they
began to respond and put pressure on her mouth to
allow him unreceived entry.
     She pulled back a moment later, and
measured his eyes, which had gone dark with
passion.
     "Just when I thought I knew all about you,"
he said, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.
     One of his arms circled her waist, and
pressed her hard against him, while the other one ran
into a tangle of red hair, meshing her with him, until
she felt as if they were one and the same.
     He pulled back softly, and she couldn't
resist asking, "What didn't you know about me?"
     "I don't think I'll ever know all about you.
Promise you won't get predictable by the time I
come back?"
     Her arms tightened lightly. "Promise."
     "Good," he whispered, then smiled. "If I
had known you could kiss like that-" he started, but
didn't finish, his forehead resting against hers. Both
his hands came up to cup her neck, his thumbs
drawing tiny circles at her jawbone.
     "If you had known I could kiss like that,
what?" she asked, staring deeply into his eyes,
searching for the answer she already knew. That if he
had known, they would probably have spent the past
two days doing other things. More enjoyable things.
Things that she knew they shouldn't do.
     He pulled her away gently, so he could
stare into her eyes, which were cloudy from passion.
His pupils were dilated, amidst the hazel puddle
surrounding them, and it sent a tiny erotic shiver
through her system.
     "Final boarding call for flight 318, final
boarding call."
     A tiny sound of despair escaped her throat.
Mulder swallowed it with another kiss. "I'm coming
back, Scully," he said against her lips.
     "I'm going to miss you."
     "I already miss you," he said.
     She pulled away softly and grinned.
"Always have to be the winner, don't you?"
     He winked at her. "Yep. I've gotta come
back. Now that I know you can kiss like that, I'm
coming back for more."
     She laughed. "You're gonna miss your
flight."
     He kissed her once more. "Damn, just
when I'm starting to like this. I'll see you later,
okay?"
     She smiled, pensive. "Yeah, yeah, I'll see
you later."
     He took her hand and squeezed it gently,
before picking up his duffel bag and jogging up the
terminal towards the plane.
      Scully sighed, listening to the reports of an
uneasy calm followed by several more bombs being
dropped by the reporter in Rome. No one was using
nuclear weapons yet, but the war was quickly
escalating, and it might come to that fact. Scully had
started going to Church again, in the absence of her
partner, praying to a God she had forsaken a long
time ago to bring him back to her, along with her
brothers. She prayed every night, for the end of the
war, for the safe return of her family, and her
partner. And, for once, she didn't doubt the God she
prayed to. Rather, she wanted to believe, adopting
Mulder's willingness to believe as if it was her own.

     She wanted to believe in a God who would
help her.
     She wanted to believe Mulder and her
brothers would come back to her safe and sound.
     She wanted to believe the war would end
soon.
     And in wanting, she believed.
     She sat down at the table, and sorted
through her mail. Telephone bill, electric bill, Ed
McMahon trying to sell her magazines, a  JC Penny
catalogue, a letter from Mulder, the next issue of TV
Guide-
     She stopped, pushing away the magazine
and picking up the letter. In Mulder's masculine,
familiar scrawl, her name and address were penned
across an envelope. She stared at the letters all
gliding into one another, imagining Mulder gently
flowing it with a pen.
     Dana Katherine Scully.
     He had written out her middle name. She
wondered what had possessed him to do so. In the
corner, his own name, company, platoon and
division. She smiled, and turned the letter over. She
tore the envelope open, and pulled out the letter like
it was gold.
     And to her, it was gold. Gold from one of
the best friends she'd ever had.
     It was folded three ways, and the pages
were numbered.  She glanced through it, seeing
several small words or sentences blacked out for
secrecy. It was dated about a week ago. She took the
letter with her into the living room, and shut off the
television in the kitchen. Plopping down on the
couch, she tucked her legs under her, and began to
read:


Dear Scully,
     I told you I would write, didn't I? Okay, so
maybe I didn't tell you, but you knew I would. I got
out of basic training about a week ago. Can you
believe how little training we all got? I'll probably get
a reprimand for this, but how are we supposed to
win the war if some of us still are in danger of
shooting our foot off. Another lowly soldier like
myself almost killed me in basic training because he
didn't know how to use his weapon. And you
thought all the danger was in the war! I'm fine now,
though. I've been stationed in ******** for the time
being. They'll probably censor that, but I'm sticking
it in here anyway. It's summer here- summer in
February! I forgot to tell you- I bought you a
birthday present before I left. It's hidden in the
cushion of my couch in storage- you have the key.
You can open it before your birthday if you want to,
I hope you like it.
     The local scenery here is wonderful. If this
was is over by then, I'm thinking of retiring to
*******. Wanna come? We saw the ******
******* while driving through *****. The capital is
still held by  our side. We stayed in a hotel for one
night, giving us luxury before taking us out to the
battlefield as backup for the next scrimmage against
the bad guys, I suppose. I think some woman came
onto me,  but I took Spanish in high school, not
******, and I don't really remember much of that
language, either! Don't get your scalpel out to
dissect me yet, Dr. Scully, nothing happened. I really
wish you could see this place, Scully, it's beautiful.
You'd love it. You've never been to Europe, have
you? When this war's over, you and I are coming on
vacation here, if there's anything left of the place. A
lot of the national monuments were destroyed when
the Chinese took control of this city, but what is left
is gorgeous. I wish I could send you some pictures.
     We've gone out for one battle so far, with
no casualties. It was merely a scrimmage, so I'm
told, but it seemed a lot worse. I've gotten bit all to
hell by mosquitoes. We had to lay in the tall grass all
night long during the fighting. We're up against
Moai's boys. ***** Mason and I headed up two
sections of our division to surround the group.
We're still on the defensive side of the war, but
we're gaining ground rapidly. It doesn't seem that
way. Mason and I pushed back the Chinese about
**** * **** on the battle ground. I got two men
down, and I shot another in the arm before he fled.
     It's not the same as before, though. It's not
the same type of killing, and it feels wrong
somehow. I can't help thinking that the men I killed
could have wives, families, that they weren't evil,
just merely doing the job they were assigned. You're
not supposed to think about that here, but not
thinking about it seems less than human, doesn't it?
I don't mean to depress you, or ask you to
psychoanalyze this stuff with me. I wish you were
here. Well, more likely I wish I was back in the
States with you. I never realized how much easier it
was to communicate with you when you're right in
front of me. The way we could just look at each
other and know. It's so hard to try and tell you
everything like this, to explain how I feel with words
instead of looks and gestures. I can only hope my
mental thesaurus and dictionary explain well
enough.
     One of the men under my section, *****
Armstrong, was shot in the arm during the so-called
scrimmage. He was sent to the infirmary, and is
being shipped back. He fractured a bone, and the
doctors say it's going to be months before it heals,
and maybe even years before he's back in perfect
physical condition. So he's been honorably
discharged, and is out for the duration of the war.
***** was one of those guys who wanted to be out
here, too, you know?
     Would it be too cliche to say that I miss
you? Because I do. I miss you terribly. I almost envy
poor *****. I know I shouldn't, but I do. He can go
home, to his family. Yeah, I know, what family do I
have to return to? Mom and Dad are gone,
Samantha.... well, you know. I guess all I really have
is you. It seems like forever since I've seen you.
     I've thought about what happened at the
airport a lot. No, I'm not about to launch into a
perverted fantasy, or complain because there's no
women here. I've just thought about when we
kissed.
     Do you remember when your mom and
Gail had us pose for pictures when we were baking
at your mom's house? I have one of us, and I carry it
with me everywhere. It's the one where you've got
your head on my shoulder, and I've got my head on
top of yours, and we have our arms around each
other, and there's flour all over both of us. I carry
that picture, and my picture of Samantha. I guess
maybe I'm hoping that I'll see both of you soon.
     I've numbered all of these pages because of
the way the mail carriers screw around with our
letters. They've probably blacked out at least a half
dozen of the things I've told you. I just hope they
didn't get rid of the important stuff.
     There's not really much more I can say,
other than you've been on my mind a lot. If I get
hurt in battle, I hope I wake up to my favorite
redhead, who for some reason is always chasing
after to me to make sure I'm all right. I never told
you before, but I never really understand why
you've done what you've done for me. Why time
and time again you've done so much for me, and I
know you've gotten so little from me in return. War
can make you pretty damned philosophical, huh?
I've been a real pain in the ass to you a lot of the
time, and you're still here for me. I adore you for
that.

     Scully paused, looking up from the letter.
Adore.
     I adore you for that.
     He was skating around something, some
word he was hesitant to use, she could feel it
resonating from the pages of the letter, his reluctance
to come out and use the word he wanted. She
wished he would just come out and say it, put it on
the paper, and stop pretending it didn't exist. She
wanted to see it in his script, addressed to her, with
her name on it. The word they had never used with
each other, but always felt. The word she was sure
he wanted to put on that piece of paper, but he
couldn't, wouldn't do it.
     She sighed. Adore was close enough, she
thought.
     Scully returned to the letter.

     I hope you realize this, I hope you can
understand what I'm trying to say with these words.
I miss you terribly. I hope they don't black that out.
I miss you I miss you I miss you.
     How's your mom and everyone else
holding up? How are you doing? Any hot dates? See
any UFOs lately? Frohike young enough for the
draft? <G>. Hey, how's your mom holding up with
all those kids in the house? I heard they were going
to start drafting women soon. I hope you don't have
to come over here, Scully. I hope you don't have to
face this war at all. It's horrible. We're going out for
another scrimmage tomorrow. They say this one
could turn into a full-fledged battle because the
Chinese have been way too lenient with us and the
land. They might try to get it all back with one big
attack. The battle could last for several days, so I
might not have time to write again for a while. They
said to be sure we have food supplies and our
dogtags, just in case. If something does happen to
me, you're listed as my next of kin, so they'll
contact you first. But don't worry. I'm coming home
alive and well. I'm still looking forward to my
welcome home kiss, and I'm not going to be dead or
disabled when I get it. You can write me back, as
you probably know, and you're mother's probably
encouraged you a thousand times. Don't tell her
about our good-bye kiss. She and Gail will start
planning our wedding. Only they'll have both your
sisters-in-law to do it with!
     Well, this letter is quickly turning into a
novel, so I'm going to cut it off. Besides, it's around
eleven here, and I've got to be up by four-thirty.

                              ,

     Mulder


     Scully stared at the closing and smiled to
herself. Leave it to Mulder. Everything but the
words. She caressed the page lightly with her
fingertips, as if it was his face she was actually
touching. Maybe even his soul. "You're the most
complex man in the world, Fox Mulder. I miss you
too," she said aloud, adding the little heart in his
closing to her thought mentally. She paused,
pondering the last page in her hand. Setting down
the page with his closing, she stared at the page. It
had a big PS written on top, and then a giant O on
the paper. Her smile lifted into a grin.
     Beside the O was a tiny x and a heart.







     Mulder lay flat on the ground in the near-
darkness. Dew was forming on his uniform and helmet,
mixing with the sweat beading on his forehead. The sun
above had been hot all day long, making his clothes stick
to him. Now he was freezing in the chilled evening air.
Such was late March weather in Europe. He shivered, and
wished for the twentieth time in the past hour that he was
back in the United States, in his bunk, anyplace but the
middle of a field in France.
     Tall grass swirled around both he and his unit.
They had been camped out in the field for over twelve
hours while other negociated the terms of surrender of the
twelve Chinese soldiers left. After three tanks had been
demolished by land mines left over from the World Wars,
they had decided to make a ground approach, to save both
lives and money. It was a good decision, but it also forced
three dozen soldiers to revert to the days of trench
warfare. Mulder, unfortunately, was one of those soldiers.
He and five others were staked out about five feet from
each other, crouched low in the grass, with their guns in
place. A distance of about a hundred yards separated him
and the twelve Chinese soldiers.
     The night sky loomed with clouds on the east,
parallel to where his group of six men were lined up along
the front lines. Shouting and bombs could be heard in the
distance. Mulder heard the approach of an airplane, but
recognized the humming as a USAF plane. The Japanese
planes made a buzzing sound that was slightly louder. He
had learned to tell the difference, to know when a bomb
was coming and when one was going. It was his fifth time
in the field, but certainly the longest. He had been lying in
the same position since six o'clock that morning, and it
was well after eight, but the looks of the sun just setting
over the French countryside.  His first three assignments
had been in Australia, but the last two had moved him and
his unit to France. Those had mostly been scrimmages
until Britain could get their ducks in a line and send some
Naval aid to the South Phillipines and Australia to cut the
Japanese off before they landed. This felt more like a
standoff, and it had been going on for the past week.
     His shifts before had been a maximum of six
hours, but they had radioed his unit with the news that
they wouldn't be changing units until the Chinese
surrender. Word had gotten out that the Chinese had
seven American POWs and if they could capture the
twelve Chinese soldiers alive, they might be able to make
a trade. And if the Chinese saw any activity, they might
panic and do something rash, which could include using
the alleged nuclear weapons bought at a hefty price from
southern Soviet states.
     Mulder was getting bored. And tired. And
hungry. He scanned the horizon, where the Chinese
makeshift camp was. No signs of activity. He shrugged
several times, his shoulders aching from being in one
position for too long a time. He hadn't eaten anything
since five o'clock that morning, and he was afraid if he
was forced to stay out here for the night he would fall
alseep. That would mean extra duties which he wasn't
sure he'd have the energy for. Whereas he could handle a
suspension from work as a reprimand, cleaning toilets and
washing dishes were tasks he didn't want to face up to.
Besides, he was the unit leader. He was supposed to be
the strong one. It would be double the hell for being in
charge *and* falling asleep or passing out from hunger.
He wasn't sure which one would happen first.
     He rubbed his forehead, and pursed his lips.
"What the hell is taking them so long?" he muttered to
himself. His stomach growled in response. At one point,
he had been tempted to start grazing like a cow, he was so
hungry. He snorted. He'd better not tell Scully about that
one. She'd die laughing. He allowed himself the luxury of
a tiny smile despite his condition. Thinking about his
friend back home always brightened him up. He tried to
picture what her reaction would be. She would look at
him, and try to hold back a smile, and then suddenly
break out, her lips pulling up and away in a coy simper.
Then she would clear her throat, and make some smart
comeback. Something like, "If you want, you can come
over and cut my grass- you wouldn't even have to use the
mower!". Yeah, that was exactly the kind of reply she
would make. Something very quick, and very sly like that,
he thought. And his reaction? Well, he would probably
stand very close to her, so close that he could smell her
perfume and the fragrance of the shampoo she used in her
hair that morning. And he would tilt her chin up and look
deep into her eyes. Make her think he was going to say
something very important or very serious. Put on that
deep expression. And then quietly reply something very
fliratatious, or very witty. He stared off into the distance,
his eyes unfocusing on the enemy quarters a hundred
yards away. Yes, that was exactly the way it would go
between them. It was the way it always went. He would
lean very close, so close that she would pull back. He
could almost see her blue eyes questioning him, while
remaining very large and very open. He would make some
wise comeback and quickly turn away. Something like,
"Moo" or "Do you think Mrs. Clackey would approve".
And he would elicit a tiny chuckle from the depths of her
throat, and turn away quickly, satisfied that he had made
her laugh.
     Thinking about Scully also brought back
memories of the last time he had seen her, over two
months ago when she'd said good-bye to him at the
airport back in Baltimore. He'd thought a lot about what
had happened. One moment he'd been standing there,
saying good-bye to Scully wishing he could stay, and
keep loyal to himself. And then in the next second she
had just leaned over and kissed him. He wasn't quite sure
what to make of it, even after such a long time had passed.
He knew they should have discussed this. He should have
said more in his letter. But there was no way to explain
what he was feeling. All the words he knew, the terms, the
definitions . . .  none of it would work in a letter to Scully.
None of it could explain how he felt. The confusion, the
emotion. He had always found Scully attractive, both on
the outside and on the inside. But he had ignored his
outside attraction, focusing more on the inside one. The
fact that he found her physically appealing had been
pushed away. After all, she was his partner, his friend, his
confidant. She was the only person he trusted. So he had
ignored his physical wants to satisfy his emotional ones.
And now he wondered if perhaps he could have it both
ways. If he could have her both ways. Such were the
dangerous borderline thoughts that had raced through his
head at the moment her lips pressed against his. Kissing
Scully wasn't at all like he thought it would be. When she
had kissed him, it hadn't been with the graceful
confidence she always possessed in his presence. It had
been tentatitve. A childlike pressing of the lips and then
down and away again. How could he explain that it felt
like receiving water after dying of thirst to feel the soft,
heated press of her mouth touching his? Like tasting
forbidden fruit, breaking the ultimate rule? He wanted to
see her. If he could only see her, and know that she knew
what he felt, then everything would be fine. They had
kissed, they had crossed a barrier, and they hadn't talked
about it. They had kissed more than once, he reflected. If
it had been a simple brush of her lips against his, it could
have been written off as a good-bye kiss. But he had
kissed her. A real kiss where his arms were around her, his
tongue teasing her lips. He didn't know what possessed
him to do such a thing. He had been worried about
mentioning the scene at the airport in his letter. She hadn't
written him back yet, and he was afraid he had driven her
off. Pushed her too far, made it seem like more than she
thought it was. He was worried that he had ruined
everything. All those years of trust and frienship and care
thrown away because of a meaningless physical intimacy.
     No, not meaningless. At least, not to him. To
him, it had been fitting, it had felt right. It had felt . . .
purposeful. He just wished he knew what exactly was
going on, exactly how he felt compared to how she felt.
That he would know what kind of things to think about,
dream about. He found himself fantasizing about when he
would get home, if she would live up to her end of the
bargain and give him the kiss he found himself longing
for. How would things change when the war was over?
The war had already imposed upon his relationship with
her. Would they know what to do about the change when
the war was over? Would they ignore what had happened,
or act upon it? And for God sake, what did she feel, what
did he feel?
     The radio by his side squaked indignantly,
making him jump from his thoughts. He stared at it evilly,
listening to the message. It was rare that he was ever alone
with his thoughts anymore, and in a way he supposed that
was a good thing. He would surely have driven himself
crazy pondering what had happened at the airport. But
sometimes he wished he could just have a few minutes to
think without being interrupted, especially with what had
happened, what was happening.
     "Trooper, this is Little D, come in, over," a male
voice reported. It was his senior officer, Lieutenant
Gregory Psawtle. Psawtle was in his early forties,  and
surely would be a general, had it not been for his raunchy
past. He had been in and out of rehab for his drinking
problem in the eighties before turning sober and joining
the military. He had fought in Desert Storm, and was a
likeable guy. Psawtle used his past as both example and
entertainment. Several of the younger recruits, those who
had signed up as soon as they hit eighteen, and those that
had been drafted looked up to him, and respected him.
Mulder had a sort of admiration for the man. Psawtle had
been dealt a bad hand in the game of life. His ex-wife had
divorced him, and his daughter dreaded the yearly visits.
But all these things hadn't made the man bitter. Although
ostracized,  he had kept face, and dealt with his problems,
instead of just quitting life and letting the world have its
way with him. Mulder respected someone who could do
that.
     "Trooper here, Little D, what's the word?" he
replied, smirking at the radio.Who had decided to come
up with such stupid names?
     "We're bringing them home, Trooper. Stand and
deliver, they're coming halfway. One at a time. Send three
of your boys out, make sure they're on guard for a trap.
Skies above are heavy. Little D out," Psawtle finished.
     Mulder felt like a trucker talking into the radio
with all this odd language. Darkness had fallen. He
snapped on his heat-seeking lenses to peer out at the
horizon. A warm-blooded creature was making its way
forward, hands raised. He crawled, using his elbows to the
six men in his unit, informing them of the procedure. One
man was coming out at a time. Three of them were going
to get the first one. They were to keep their weapons
loaded and aware of a trap, because of the air traffic
above.
     Mulder informed all six men, sending out three- a
young man who was just out of his teens, a man about his
own age, and a man of about thirty. Between the three of
them, they should be able to handle their prisoner. He
watched with binoculars as the youngest came up behind
and expertly tied the Chinese soldier's hands with some
type of rope. The oldest man checked the soldier for
weapons, and when satisfied he posed no threat, all three
began leading him fowards.
     And so it went, group after group, until Mulder
and two others were the only ones left. The last Chinese
soldier came forward. Mulder and his group moved
forward. Following in the same pattern, the youngest of
the three reached for the soldier's arms, grimacing when
he realized that the poor devil had only one.
     "He's only got one arm, how am I supposed to
tie him up?" the young man asked. He looked like he
might have forged his draft card, he was so young.
     Mulder glanced up just as he finished patting
down the man's leg in his search for concealed weapons.
At the same time, the soldier's second arm dropped out of
his sleeve, fully attached. Mulder felt the soldier's knee
connect with his nose. The man kicked back, catching the
youngest squarely in the groin. The thrid man held the
gun on the soldier. Mulder glanced up, holding his aching
face, just in time to see the soldier pull the oddest escape
in history. The man lifted up his shirt, flashing her breasts
at Mulder's surprised comrad. The soldier was a
*woman*.The woman took the man's surprise to her
advantage, kicking out and pressing the gun back into the
third man's stomach. He doubled over, sucking in air as
the woman took off like a bat out of hell back to her camp.
Mulder stood, holding his bloody nose and started after
her. He was catching up with her. A few more feet and he
could tackle her. He dashed towards her, fully intent on
catching his prey . . .
     *Stop, Mulder.*
     The voice boomed in his subconcsious, so loud
he held his head. But it was a familiar voice. *Scully?* He
glanced up to see the woman gaining ground, and
stumbled towards her.
     *STOP*
     Her voice seemed to surround him, and he
stopped, collapsing from the mental vibrations. He
glanced up just in time to see the Chinese woman's body
fly up and through the air, punctuated by a blast. She did
a flip, and he grimaced as he saw flesh explode in all
directions. Black smoke steamed from where she had
stepped on a land mine.
     If he would have followed her, he surely would
have been dead.
     So why had he stopped?

     Mulder was lying on his bunk, his stomach filled
with cheap but better prepared than what he had eaten
back at home sometimes, army food. The scene kept
replaying itself in his head. The other five inhabitants of
his quarters were involved in a game of poker. Henry
Abberdine, an older man of forty was dealing. Abberdine
was still amazed over the fact that the Chinese soldier had
turned out to be a woman. The others, Mark Nary, John
Caters and Michael Riverson were poking fun at
Abberdine and Arnold Carnent.
     "How could you not see that she was a broad,
Abberdine?" Nary teased.
     Abberdine snorted. "How the hell was I
supposed to know? Christ, if I pulled down my pants and
mooned the enemy, don't you think they'd be just a little
bit flustered? Lordy, but she did have a nice set," he
added. "Ante up."
     "Hey, don't scare the kid," Caters warned.
"Carnent's saving himself for Lady Lorie back in
Hicksville."
     "Jesus, I'd bedded half the cheerleaders by the
time I was eighteen," Riverson chimed in.
     Mulder turned over on his side. "Ah, leave the
kid alone, vultures," he added, coming to Carnent's
defense.
     "Ah, that's right, you've got a chick waiting back
home for you, too, doncha Mulder?" Caters asked.
     "Hey, show us the picture, Mulder. That little
redhead is hot," Abberdine encouraged. He took a big
puff of his cheap cigar, blowing a smoke ring in the air.
     Mulder snorted. "I'll be the one doing the
fantasizing about my best friend, thank you very much."
     "Best friend my ass. What are ya, a queer? I'll
bet money-"
     "Mail call," a darker voice said. All five men
stood. Mulder slid unceremoniously down off his bunk to
stand rock still as Lietuenant Psawtle came in, faced with
six saluting men. "At ease, you're off duty, gentlemen,"
he scolded. All six men relaxed, returned to their sitting
positions. Mulder climbed back up on his bunk, staring at
the ceiling.
     He was surprised when he felt something land on
his stomach. He glanced down to see a padded envelope
lying haphazardly there. He picked the envelope off his
body, and flipped over on his belly to read the return
address. He recognized the neat, precise handwriting of
Dana Scully. He smiled, his face breaking into an idiotic
grin. Scully had gotten his letter. She had written back.
Quickly, he tore the evelope open. A small white envelope
was the first thing that came out, followed by a square
box and a photo. He set the padded envelope down, and
picked up the photo. His breath caught in his throat at the
sight of her, and a wave of loneliness and longing swept
through him. It was a picture of a smiling Scully, her eyes
bright. It looked professionally done. Her makeup looked
flawless, the chignon of red hair with curls burgeoning
from the top like a whitecap on a wave was immaculately
put up. She was wearing a long blue dress. It dipped off
her shoulders, the sleeves a sheer light blue. The bodice
was more secure, and darker, and the skirt flew out, piles
of the same sheer fabric as the sleeves covering her legs
from mid-thigh down. He turned the photo over, where
she had written him a small message:

     I've seen that picture of us covered in flour.
Enough said. Anne got me a gift certificate to have a
picture professionally taken (you know, hair, makeup,
wardrobe) for my birthday. If you're going to carry a
picture of me, it's not going to be one where I look like
The Wicked Witch of the West.  ;)

     He smiled, and turned the photo back over. He
skipped the square box, and instead opened the letter,
eager to read more of what she had to say.  He glanced at
the pages, frowning when he realized they were typed
instead of handwritten. But then again, Scully wouldn't be
sentimental about letter writing. If he wasn't so far away
from her, he probably wouldn't care if she wrote him with
a pen and her own hand or sent him an e-mail. But it
would have meant more time went into the letter if she
wrote it by hand. And maybe in giving the letter more
attention, could she possibly care more? He sat on his
bunk, his head nearly touching the ceiling of their
quarters, and set the picutre down so he could glance at it
while he read. The box he set off to one side, along with
the big envelope. Picking up the pages of her letter, he
began to read.

Dear Mulder,
     Well, I'm writing back. Things here have
changed. Eveyrone is doing everything they can for the
war effort. All computers at headquarters have been shut
down, except for one, to save money on electricity. I've
had to fill out all my autopsy reports by hand because it's
not considered necessary to do them on a computer
(hence,  I'm typing this letter- I've done twelve autopsies
today, and had to make handwritten reports on each).
Everyone who can is supposed to use the stairs instead of
the elevators. A lot of the secreteries have been given a
mandatory leave of absence until further notice, becuase
they aren't needed. The VCS is swamped with cases from
all over the country. I'm being used as a field agent
because a lot of the men have been drafted. I've heard that
some of the field offices have been shut down. Staff
numbers are dwindling everywhere. I'm working as a fill-
in doctor at Fairfax Mercy hospital on Saturdays because
of the lack of residents. Nurses are taking over a lot of the
jobs dotors usually perform.
     Remember how I told you Mom might take in
that girl Kate? Well, she did, along with a little boy named
Robbie Enusa. Robbie's only about one and a half, so he
doesn't understand what's going on. His father was
drafted and is now listed as MIA. His mother became so
shaken that she couldn't care for him by herself. Sissy
Enusa and Robbie are both living with my mother. Kate
knows her father had to go to war, and she's adjusting to
living with my mom and everyone else really well. Mom is
having the time of her life. She's got three adults and five
children living in her house with her.  And she's loving
every minute of it. I guess it reminds her of what it used to
be like in our house- chaotic. B.J. and Charlie have
written. From clues that slipped past, I'm guessing that
B.J. is along the front lines in Italy, where the brunt of the
fighting is going on. Charlie is in Saudi Arabia, I think. His
unit is trying to push back the Indians from the country,
but although we have superior technology, they have
more manpower. We're only allowed to drive if we have
to go more than ten miles. Otherwise, everyone is limited
to bicycles and walking. You wouldn't recognize
Washington. It's quieter. There's a lot of vandalism,
mostly by teens, but surprisingly the murder rate has gone
down. Any teenagers who have ben put in juvenile hall for
serious offenses such as assault and murder are being
drafted if they're sixteen or older.
     The draft for single women has been put into
effect. I got a letter yesterday, confirming that I've been
drafted. I'm in the Navy because of my father's
background. I haven't told Mom yet. I have to leave
within a week. I'll be aboard the USS  Roswell. I know
you'll get a kick out of that. You'll be able to write to me
aboard my ship. I don't know how I'm going to be able to
tell everyone else. Kate and I have become really close,
and this is going to hurt her. And mom's been depending
on me for different things. It's going to be hard to tell her.
It's hard to tell you.
     It's lonely here without you. It feels too quiet,
too normal <G>. I miss you a lot. It's hard to come up
with the right words here, like you said before, it was
easier when we could just look at each other and know,
we didn't have to use so many inadequate words. I
understand how you feel, and I wish there was no war. I
wish you were back here with me, and you didn't have to
kill all these people, and you didn't have to think about
their families, their friends. Don't drag yourself through
that. I know my words aren't doing a lot of good here, but
don't keep dwelling on the fact that you killed someone.
     I've started going to Church again. I know, in
your absence, I'm becoming a believer. <G> The war has
gotten me to take another look at God. I have to believe
that something can stop this war, something bigger than a
country, or enough guns.  I need to.
     I keep wishing that you're here with me. I find
myself doing different things, and all of a sudden, I'll hear
your voice in my head, what you would say if you were
here. Maybe this war is getting to me. I'm not there with
you in the field, and I can't protect you there. I'm not
there to help you. If I could, you know I would be there.
Partners forever, right? Be careful. Watch who you trust,
because you're going to have to trust someone besides me
in this.

     Mulder paused. Didn't she realize? He'd told her
time and time again. Did she think he didn't mean it?
Mulder trusted her above everyone else. He trusted her
with everything. She was the only one he trusted. She
hadn't let him down. He never doubted that she would.

     I've thought about what happened at the airport,
too. Don't worry, I haven't told mom. But it's been on
my mind a lot. I think it could change things if we let it.
Maybe it already has. I wish I knew what it meant, what it
could mean, if it matters at all. I need to know.
     Why do I follow you around? I have to take care
of you. My life would be so boring if you weren't there to
mess things up <G>.You know why I've walked through
hell and back for you. And I know why you'd do the
same for me.

     He stopped again. I know why? He knew what
she was saying. He could almost hear her voice reading
off everything on this letter, just like her voice had been in
his head at the battlefield. It had to be an omen that he'd
gotten this letter after the events that had transpired earlier.
Things like this weren't just coincidences. There had to be
a reason. He just wished he knew what it was. There was a
word he was tempted to use, that he could tell she was
tempted to use. It was sitting on the tip of his tongue. He
just wished he knew what it was they both wanted to say.

     I did get your present for me, Mulder. I opened it
on my birthday. It's lovely. I wish you could have been
here to give it to me. I haven't taken it off since I put it on,
on my birthday. I don't think I'm going to ever take it off.
And, in return, I've gotten you something. Consider it an
anniversary present. A couple days ago was the day I first
walked into your office, about seven years ago. I believe
your first words to me were something like, "Isn't it nice
to be highly regarded?"
     Well, I think about you a lot. Is it nice?

     Mulder took a deep breath. It was very nice. It
made him feel honored that she had liked the gift he'd
gotten her. It was a silver ID bracelet, with her name
inscripted on the front. On the flip side was a tiny heart
and the letters F.M. He didn't really know why he had
suddenly decided to put the heart on there. He had been
hoping to figure out a way to explain it by the time he
gave it to her. But she didn't seem to be questioning it.
And so, maybe she knew. He picked up the white box and
opened it. Inside was a very elegant, very expensive
watch. He picked it up, and looked at it, grinning to
himself. The face of the watch had a large and very blatant
green X on it. He felt the back, and realized there were
tiny ridges there. He flipped it over. Inscribed on the back
was: Thank You, D.S. He touched it lightly, and then
turned back to her letter.

     Do you remember the statue we made? I've got
it in my apartment still. Mom came over the other day and
she was looking at it. She asked me why I bought it- think
we could make more and sell them? <G> I couldn't think
of anything else, and I told her you got it for me as a gag
gift. And then she got that look on her face, and asked me
if I wanted to tell her something. You have to give her
credit- she's persistent.
     I guess I should close this off before I start
reminicing. Just know that I'm with you, and that I miss
you, too.
               L,
                    Scully

PS- ditto

     Mulder set the letter down. L? What was L? He
stared at the tiny letter. It could just be a typo.
     Or it could be . . .
     No, it wasn't. It couldn't be. L. He glanced at the
rest of the letter. All of it was spelled right and
gramatically correct. She would have looked over the
paper before she sent it. Why had she let the L go? Had
she intended it to be there? What the hell did it mean? He
closed his eyes, replaying the letter in his mind.
     *Just know that I'm with you*
     He opened his eyes, and stared at the picture of
the woman whom he had grown so close to over the past
seven years. The woman he trusted with everything.
     She had been there. She had been with him, she
had warned him not to follow the Chinese woman. He
was sure of it. She had saved him again, and she wasn't
even here. He stared at the date of the letter. It was written
a week and a half ago. That would mean that she was now
aboard the USS Roswell, going to some unknown
destination. He wondered if she was nearby, how things
had gone with her mother. Margaret must have been upset
that Scully was going to the war.
     And the postscript- he smiled as he remembered
what his postscript to her had been.
     *Ditto*
     He wished he could fulfill that promise.
     He closed his eyes and searched his memory,
going back over the night he and Scully had made the
statue. It had been right after Bill Patterson was
institutionalized. He had been making a gargoyle, his mind
still on the previous case. And then she had come to his
apartment. He had waited for her to leave, to see that he
was fine and leave. How could he drag her down with
him? He waited for her to see that he was a lunatic, to
leave it all behind. He had put her in danger time and
again, she hould have backed out a long time ago. And
she hadn't. had been soft and sad. And then they had
started to make the sculpture. Eventually, they had
finished, and dozed on his couch, thoroughly exhausted
by the time morning And he didn't want her to. So she
had come and she had stopped him. He remembered that
he voice came. She had made some crack about her mom
buying her a copy of Ghost. And she had told him that
they could do anything together. It had been one of the
few times they had used words instead of actions or
expressions to say how they felt. One of the few times
that the words had been adequate.
     He folded her letter back up and carefully slipped
it into its envelope. Then he picked up the watch.
     Thank You, D.S.
     No, he thought, thank you Scully. He slipped it
on his wrist, and lay down again on his stomach, looking
at her picture.
     He willed her to hear his thoughts, if such a thing
was possible. She had been there, somehow she had been
with him on that field. Maybe if he tried, he could
communicate with her that way. He closed his eyes and
let his mind drift.
     *I'm there with you, too.*


End part I

Love, The Missing Word I-V
by
Sarah Kiley

Part II


     Dana Scully stared out over the dark waters
that churned twenty feet below her against the ship's
engines to spot the lighted coast of Italy.  Stars
shone brightly overhead. The night air was cool on
her slightly exposed skin. It chilled the small ID
bracelet she wore on her wrist that jangled as she
placed her hands on the railing. She was on the main
deck, like about a dozen other sailors who weren't
needed at the moment. After all, they were only
going to dock, and there was no sign of an attack.
They weren't on duty, not officially. In fact, they
were about a mile from Rome, where they would
dock. After that, she would receive her forty-eight
hour leave along with the rest of the crew of the USS
Roswell. It was almost nine o'clock, and it was a
Friday night. If there was no war, she reflected, she
would be home right now, probably going over case
notes or watching a bad science fiction movie with
Mulder. She would be sitting with her head resting
against his thigh as he stretched out on her couch.
One of his hands might absently play with a piece of
her hair as she let herself unwind, and complained
about the cheesy special effects of the movie, or the
way her stomach rumbled from the bad Chinese
food. Mulder would be trying to convince her that
these were the best movies ever made, and that it
had been her idea, not his to get Chinese instead of
pizza. And she would turn her head to glare at him,
only to find those hazel eyes heavy-lidded and
teasing her. And then she might climb up beside
him, put her head on his shoulder, and turn his face
towards her own. And as his hazel eyes ran dark and
the hand formerly playing with her hair now teased
the skin of her arm while his other hand touched her
face, his thumb tempting her lower lip. He would
lean down and gently press a kiss to her lips,
innocent at first, and then hungrier, gaining more
passion as she responded, and rolled on top of him,
gently unbutton his shirt as his hands roamed over
her body, her breaths quickening. And so softly, he
would begin to unbutton her blouse before he swept
her up into his arms and carried her into her
bedroom, his eyes never leaving hers . . .
     She shook herself. Where had *that* come
from? Never in a million years had she and Mulder
done anything like that, and they probably never
would. She frowned, gazing at the lights that played
as the ship sailed into port. As the ship's medical
doctor, she had almost as much supervision over
things as the captain. She decided what the sailors
ate, who should be on deck and who should work
below, treated sick sailors, vaccinated others to make
sure diseases wouldn't catch, checked sanitary
conditions, did physicals on each sailor once a week
to make sure they were maintaining their health. She
was scheduled to do some land work, too, but for
right now, she would maintain her status as the
ship's doctor. It was not an easy job on a ship with
over two hundred men. But Dana had always loved
sailing. Her father used to take her and her two
brothers out sailing. Melissa had never wanted to
come. Missy was always too much of a girl, as
compared to Dana's tomboy self.  The last time- she
paused, a tiny smile flirting with her lips.
     The last time she had been sailing had been
almost three years ago, with Mulder. It had been
nighttime then, too, she remembered. Driving a boat
in the middle of a lake. Sailing and concentrating on
the case had diverted her attention from the death of
her dog, Queequeg. She had loved the little dog, and
losing him to an alligator had been one of the lower
points in her life with Mulder.
     Life with Mulder.
     Scully didn't know when she started to
divide time like that. It had simply happened in her
mind- there were the years before Mulder came into
her life, and there were the years after.
     She stared up at the sky. The sky at sea
always looked different than any other sky she
knew. There were always so many stars when you
were surrounded by nothing but water. She sighed
wistfully, remembering times when her father had
been alive, and had pointed out the constellations to
her and her brothers. Her mom and sister had
sometimes come on the tiny boat owned and
maintained by Bill Scully. She had distinct memories
of sitting in the stern of the ship, staring up at the
sky, and watching her mother and father doing the
same, Bill Scully's arms around his wife's waist, his
chin on her head. Neither of her parents had been
very tall. When Mulder had met her father that one
time, she remembered wondering why it seemed that
her father looked less intimidating standing next to
Mulder. From her days as a girl, she always saw him
as a large imposing figure, and she would always
have that image. She remembered her father had
bought her a copy of Moby Dick and The True
Confessions of Charlotte Doyle for her twenty-sixth
birthday.  It had been the best present she had ever
received.
     Although she didn't show it much as an
FBI agent, Dana Scully was a very sentimental
woman. She cherished little things. She had saved all
of the letters her family had written to her. They
were neatly put away in her quarters. All except one,
she thought as she twisted the ID bracelet.
     It had been bought for her almost six
months ago, in December. It had never been given to
her.
     Well, not officially, she thought. Mulder
had bought it for her for her birthday. He had
already been drafted when her birthday rolled
around, but he had urged her to get it from storage
and open it.
     So she had.
     And it had brought tears to her eyes. It had
her named scrolled in a lovely, flowing script on the
front side. On the inside, hidden from view was what
had made the gift even more special. She turned the
bracelet over, her fingers feeling along the words
placed there. A small heart stamped by the letters F.
M.
     Fox Mulder.
     She wished Mulder had been there to put it
on her wrist, to explain what that little heart there
really meant. Her throat clogged, thinking about him.
It had been almost five months since she'd seen him.
It was already late May. She had kept praying every
night, a ritual she hadn't done since she was four
years old. She prayed for Mulder, for her family, for
the war to end. And every night she asked God for
one special thing, just for her.
     She asked God to let her see Mulder.
     She would look at the picture frame beside
her bed as she prayed. It was a big 8 x 10 frame,
filled with tiny pictures. One of her brothers and
their families, one of her mother and father, taken
almost a week before he had suffered a massive
coronary that left him dead. One of her late sister,
Melissa, killed by mistake instead of her. A picture of
a brown-haired girl with a smiling wet face, dressed
in her bathing suit, with her big brother standing
behind her. She had taken the picture from Mulder's
things when she had them put into storage for him.
To find Samantha was as much her goal as it was
his. She wanted to find her for Mulder, so he could
live with himself, so he could be happy.
     And nestled in with all the other pictures of
friends and family, was a picture of Mulder. It was
one taken of them together at her mother's house
two years ago at Christmastime. Margaret Scully and
her best friend Gail had wanted pictures, so Mulder
and she had allowed themselves to be pushed and
prodded until she stood so close that their bodies
touched, he had his arms around her waist, and she
leaned into him, her hand rubbing his as they stood
in front of the Christmas tree. She remembered him
making some joke that they both had laughed at. The
happiness on his face and hers was evident, and the
memory of that time before the war had torn them
away from each other lived in her memory, among
all the other times they had shared.
     Scully sighed. She had forty-eight hours off
duty. But her thoughts weren't of partying or
getting laid, or walking along the beach and enjoying
the peace and quiet.
     Her thoughts were of getting a motel room,
and writing a letter to Mulder while soaking in a
bathtub full of hot water. She hoped they sold bath
salts and bubble bath in Italy.
     And maybe she would lie in her hotel room,
and wonder what he was doing.
     Mulder had written her a letter she got this
past week. It was tucked neatly away in her duffel
bag, along with the picture of him and her notebook,
pen, and some off-duty clothes. She hugged the
duffel bag to her chest, watching as more people
came on deck to see them dock in Rome. Mulder
had these same forty-eight hours off, she had learned
from his letter. She suspected he was in France, and
wondered if he was out partying with the guys, or if
he had a long-legged French brunette on his arm, or
other parts of his body . . .
     Hot white jealousy and rage spurt through
her at that thought. Mulder with another woman. It
made her want to spit and then find the little whore
and rip all her long dark hair out.
     She had no idea why, of course. She had no
stake of claim on Mulder. He was her partner, not
her lover, or her boyfriend. He was simply her best
friend, she kept telling herself fiercely. So what if
they had kissed at the airport? They were saying
good-bye, afraid they may never see each other
again. God knew from what Mulder had told her
about his experiences that death was not an
uncommon thing on the battlefield.  And she herself
had witnessed death due to the war first hand. The
USS Roswell had torpedoed two Japanese ships.
Scully had treated the survivors, suffering from
everything from severe burns to concussions from
falling debris. They had been locked up, and
although they had not protested her ministrations,
she could tell they weren't too happy with the fact
that she was taking care of them. They knew they
were POWs, and that that would be used against
their country. Some of them had died and witnessing
all that death had only made her want Mulder here
with her more than ever. She sighed. They were
getting closer to the port, and she could see street
lights and another ship, the USS Marina docked.
     She jumped as she felt a hand on her
shoulder.
     She glanced over and saw the smiling face
of Chelsea Stuart, one of the technicians that tracked
enemy ships below deck. She and Chelsea shared
quarters, and the woman had become somewhat of a
friend the past two months. Chelsea had long curly
black hair that she usually kept pinned up in a bun.
She had a darker, olive complexion, her brown eyes
wide. Chelsea, or Chessie as she insisted all her
friends call her while they weren't on duty, was the
sort of woman who looked like she belonged
anywhere but in the middle of a war. She was open
and friendly, smiled often and liked to laugh. Chessie
hated being called by her last name, and insisted
upon not calling anyone by their last name unless
she had to. Chessie was smart as well. She was
sympathetic and understanding, and Scully often
heard her referred to as the ship's psychologist.
More than once, Scully had gone to Chessie and
talked with her about missing Mulder, about wishing
she could see him. Chessie gave so much of herself,
that it was very easy to give back to her. Scully liked
the idea that although the war was harsh and cruel,
there were still caring people like Chessie out there,
who was everybody's best friend.
     Chessie grinned. "Thinkin' of all those hot
Italian guys out there?" she teased. "My parents
came from Italy, did I ever tell you? I speak
*perfect* Italian. Want me to set you up?"
     Dana shook her head. "That's okay,
Chessie. I'm not much in the mood for partying
around, even with all those hot Italian guys. I think
I'm just going to get a hotel room and relax away
from the ship," she offered.
     Chessie frowned. It looked wrong on her
features. "It's a *Friday* night, Dana. I mean, look
at it out there, it's Italy, it's beautiful. Don't tell me
you're going to spend forty-eight hours away from
this war sitting in a hotel room. Come on, we'll go
get a drink, check out the locals, see if there's
anything we like. There's no harm in looking, Dana.
Maybe there's a nice looking guy from that other
ship over there," she said, nodding towards the USS
Marina. "You're getting to see the world. Granted,
it's not a Funship cruise, but we've got forty-eight
hours, we don't have to be back until nine p.m.
Sunday night! You should have a *little* fun," she
coaxed. She crossed her arms over her chest and
pursed her full lips at Scully.
     The redhead sighed. "I'm not interested in
picking up a guy, Chessie."
     She sighed. "Dana, I know you're in love
with that guy, Fox."
     "Mulder," Scully covered. "And I'm not in
love with him. Mulder's a very good friend. He's
been there for me a lot."
     Chessie rolled her eyes heavenward. "I
know you're in love with him. I've seen the letters
he writes you. He's head over heels for you, and you
feel the same way. So you go out with me tonight.
You pick up a guy that's a dead ringer for Mulder. It
shouldn't be too hard, because he's tall and has
black hair. You get a substitute, have an affair, go
back to the ship, and forget about it. You can even
confess it to him if you want. He's probably off
searching the streets for a short redhead who'll have
him for the night."
     Scully snorted.
     "So you confess that you were lonely and
you did a one-time fling with some guy because you
miss him desperately- he'll understand, trust me,"
Chessie pleaded. "Come on, I don't want you to be
miserable and lonely this weekend."
     "I'll have a nice time relaxing by myself-"
     "God, Dana, you think too much. Haven't
you ever done anything just totally impulsive? Don't
think, act. It's good for you to do once in a while,"
Chessie preached.
     Scully sighed as the ship docked. She could
hear excited shouts and talking from the extra
deckhands who weren't busy securing the ship.
     Chessie rubbed her friend's shoulder. "So
whaddaya say, you gonna come with me and check
out the guys?"
     Scully closed her eyes, seeing Mulder's
face before her. Mulder with that brunette. It was
enough to make her sick.  "I must be really easily
intimidated. I'm an  FBI agent, and you've talked me
into this thing which I don't want to do-"
     Chessie squealed in delight. "That's
GREAT! All right, let's go get some *real* food, get
a drink, it's going to be a lot of fun, Dana, I promise,
you'll thank me for this!"
     Scully sighed as people started getting off
the boat. Chessie grabbed her arm and steered her
into the frenzy of people clamoring to get to solid
ground and freedom. She chattered anxiously about
what they would do.
     Scully tried to be happy, but inside she
prayed to God again for her special request, sans the
brunette.

     Mulder was stashed away in the back of
the bar, surrounded by two or three of his buddies.
He had a duffel bag full of stuff sitting next to him,
containing money and clothes. He wouldn't have to
go back to camp until Sunday night, and he was glad
of it in a way. Unlike his companions, whose
attentions were on the group of women that had just
entered the bar, their thoughts ultimately of
maneuvering one of them into bed in a cheap motel
room, Mulder had no such plans. His only plans
were on having a beer or three, getting a hotel room,
and catch up on his letter-writing. He hadn't had
time to write back to Scully's latest letter, or the
letter from Margaret, Scully's mother, or his own
mother. To his utter astonishment, he'd gotten a
letter from AD Skinner just two days ago, with
another letter from Scully. It had been brief, asking
him how he was doing, if he was obeying orders.
But the thought that Skinner would write him just
seemed absurd to Mulder somehow. It was as
ridiculous as the notion that that black-lunged
bastard back in Washington would stop by his
apartment for a friendly chat. He snorted, and took a
swig off the beer in front of him. He was seated with
his superior, Lieutenant Gregory Psawtle, Henry
Abberdine and Arnold Carnent, the youngest of his
group. Carnent was sipping his soda, trying not to
stare at the beautiful women that had just come in.
They were from some ship that had just docked, the
USS Marina, he thought, remembering passing the
ship and feeling hope that it would say USS Roswell,
and that Scully would be aboard. It was a silly
notion. After all, what were the odds that he would
end up in the same country with Scully, at the same
time, and that they would both have the same time
off? Nearly astronomical.
     He leaned back in his seat, letting his eyes
roam towards the women who were dressed in long
navy blue skirts. They had removed their jackets,
and all of them had let their hair hang down. For a
moment, it was like he was back in Washington, at
any common bar where a group of business women
had gotten off work on a Friday night and wanted to
party. He sighed, sipping his beer again.
     "Hey, Mulder, look at that one over there,"
Abberdine said, nudging him in the ribs.
     Mulder shook his head. "I'm not in the
mood, Abberdine."
     The older man looked shocked. "Come on,
these are *women* Mulder. Italian women. Big
breasts, long dark hair. These are *real* women, not
silicone like you see back in the ‘States!"
     Mulder pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Sorry, Abberdine, not interested."
     "Mulder, have you lost your mind? We're
on leave for two days. TWO DAYS. You're going to
tell me you're going to spend two days of freedom
sitting by yourself, thinking of that redhead you got
waiting for you? You said it yourself- you two are
only good friends."
     "So?" he asked miserably.
     "So?" Abberdine repeated. "So that means
because Psawtle and I are too old and Carnent here's
too young, you are just the right age, and you're not
attached to anybody, or so you say. It's your job to
flirt with the girls to get ‘em to come over here so we
can have ‘em!"
     Mulder glanced at his superior. Psawtle was
drinking a whiskey, his head down. Carnent was
shaking like a leaf. Abberdine looked eager.
     He snorted. "Sorry, Henry, but I'm not in
the mood for female companionship tonight. You're
on your own."
     Abberdine snorted. "Do you think that hot
little redhead is doing this? You said she was on
leave too, didn't ya? Well? Do you think she's
wherever she is, just sitting there thinking about
you? I guarantee she isn't. I betcha ten bucks she's
looking for a guy about six feet tall, lanky, with black
hair, brown eyes and a nose that looks a little too big.
Ten dollars she's looking for a substitute you to get
laid with. Why shouldn't you? There's gotta be-"
Abberdine paused, looking around at all the women
and men that were panned out in the small bar.
"There!" he said. He pointed over to where a red-
haired woman was seated in a booth way in back
with a woman with darker hair. Mulder couldn't see
her face, but her hair was a deep shade of red, and
she was dressed in a woman's sailing uniform, like
many of the others. Mulder sighed deeply. He
wished it was Scully. But Scully would never come
to a place like this. Despite what Abberdine said, he
knew Scully better than that. She wouldn't be going
out looking for a replacement of him. If she did go
out looking for a guy, it certainly wouldn't be
replacing him. After all, they had only been friends,
nothing more. Nothing in the letters to indicate they
were anything more than the best of friends.
Abberdine was wrong.
     "Come on, Mulder, I'm sure she's not
gonna care if you call her Dana all night. She and her
friend are ready to party, and so am I," Henry
declared.
     He grabbed Mulder's arm with surprising
strength and pulled him away from the table. "Come
on, let's go introduce ourselves," he ordered. Mulder
allowed himself to be dragged across the bar room
by Abberdine halfway until he shrugged out of the
man's grasp and simply followed him. Abberdine
pushed Mulder towards the redhead seated across
from the brunette. They were engaged adamantly in
conversation, arguing over something. Mulder
reluctantly thought of a line and came over to peer at
the frock of red hair. "Hey," he said, "is this seat-"
     He dropped off, the color draining from his
face as the woman looked up at him.
     "Scully," he breathed.
     Scully had been arguing about the futility of
coming to a bar with Chessie when she had heard his
voice. Her breath caught in her throat and she
whipped her head around, finding herself face to
face with Fox Mulder.
     "Mulder!" she exclaimed. A moment later
she was out of the booth and had hurled herself into
his arms, hugging him tightly and never wanting to
let him go. She felt his shock and then his arms go
around her, pulling her close to him. She buried her
face in his chest, fearing she was going to cry.
Mulder was here, he was here with her. It was like
her wildest dream come true- it was her secret wish,
the one she made every night before she went to
bed. She wanted to touch him, all over, make sure he
was real, and that this wasn't some figment of her
imagination. What were the chances? God, they
were practically nonexistent. But here he was. She
pulled away to stare up at his face, and into his eyes.
God, how she'd missed looking into his eyes. She
looked up there and saw that reflected back. It was
the same as it had been five months ago when
they'd said good-bye. She just looked at him, and
she knew. She reached up and touched his face, his
arms still locked around her waist as he peered down
at her. She smoothed her hand over all the planes
and angles, running her hand through his hair. It was
short, very short. They'd made him cut it so that it
was practically nonexistent, but he still looked
beautiful, she thought. He was dressed in a pair of
khaki pants, black boots and a white shirt with his
khaki shirt draped loosely on his shoulders. She
could feel the newly exploited muscle in his arms
and back, as her other hand continued caressing him
wherever she could touch. She was quite aware that
they were making a scene, but she frankly didn't
care. This was Mulder, *her* Mulder, and he was
here with her at last.
****************************************
****************************************
***
     "He has a way with women, doesn't he?"
Abberdine leered over at Chessie. Chessie was
beaming at the couple. "They know each other,
don't you know?"
     Abberdine frowned. "You mean she's the
little redhead he's hot for?"
     Chessie looked up at him. He was an older
man, a touch of gray tinting his hair, but still very
handsome in a big teddy-bear sort of way. She
smiled. "Wanna sit down? It seems that Dana isn't
going to be wanting her seat back soon," she said,
glancing at the couple. She reached a hand over.
"My name's Chelsea. Chelsea Stuart. But call me
Chessie."
     "Okay, Chessie," he said, shaking her hand.
"Name's Henry Abberdine, but you can call me a
love machine."
     Chessie wrinkled her nose. "That's a bad
line, Abberdine."
     He laughed. "I know."
     She laughed with him, getting the distinct
feeling that this was the beginning of a beautiful
friendship. "How old are you, love machine?"
     "Thirty-eight," he replied.
     "Which means you're forty," she said with
a smile. "I'm twenty-six. Want to be my mid-life
crisis?"
     He chuckled. "Why not?"
****************************************
****************************************
***
     When Mulder and Scully finally did pull
away, it was with a great reluctance.
     He took her hand, smiling down at her.
"Abberdine, I'll see you later, okay?" he called to his
friend, not bothering to look away from Scully. He
didn't want to waste one minute not taking in the
face he had longed to see every day for the past five
months.
     "Yeah, Chessie, later," Scully echoed.
     They both glanced around, to find their
friends flirting shamelessly with each other, and
laughing, not interested in them in the least bit.
Scully laughed. "Well, I think this is where we
should leave, Mulder," she said.
     "All right, just let me get my duffel bag," he
said. She grabbed hers and took his hand, never
letting go as Mulder quickly introduced her to
Psawtle and Carnent and then bid both of them
adieu.
     They walked out of the bar and into the
warm May night.
     The streets, filled to the max with locals,
soldiers and sailors, were extremely crowded, so
they ducked down a side road, where there were
fewer people out and about. Mulder took her duffel
bag from her and carried it with his own as the
sauntered down the sidewalk in a tense silence.
     Finally, Mulder broke it. "God, Scully, I've
missed you so much," he blurted.
     She looked up at him, tears shimmering in
her blue eyes. "I've missed you, too, Mulder. It's
been so long since I've seen you, it seems like a
miracle."
     He chuckled. "Are you kidding me? It *is*
a miracle. Do you know what the chances are?"
     She smiled. "This is so impossible."
     He squeezed her hand. "It isn't
impossible," he whispered. "It's fate."
     "Fate? Since when did you start believing in
fate?" she teased.
     He shot her a look. "Since when have you
known me not to believe in anything?"
     She laughed. It broke the silence and their
own barriers. Suddenly he was finally there with her
and he had a million things to tell her, things he
couldn't say in those all too infrequent letters, and
vice versa.
     They chatted amiably, sometimes cutting
each other off in their eagerness to share, and then
apologizing and asking the other to continue.
     "So," he said in a low voice, when
conversation finally had given away to a comfortable
silence. "What were you going to do these two days
if I hadn't shown up?"
     She paused, deciding to tease him. "What
makes you think I'm not going to continue doing
what I was going to do?" she asked.
     He raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna ditch
me?"
     She whirled around and poked a finger in
his chest with each word. "Not on your life, buster."
She halted a moment, looking up into his eyes. "Are
you gonna-"
     His arms came around her as a response,
pulling her close to his body. "Of course not," he
whispered. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
     She sighed contentedly. "Good. ‘Cause I
want you right here."
     He pulled back slightly. "But Scully, all
these people are watching-" he began.
     She pushed out of his arms, laughing. "You
know what I meant."
     He shrugged. "I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.
Or hear them rather," he said. He took her arm.
"Whaddaya say you tell me what you were going to
do now that we've established said plans are
canceled?"
     "Well, I was gonna get a hotel room-"
     "We can still do that," he interrupted. She
raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Scully, I'm a man, I've got
my needs!" he declared. She kept looking at him.
"All right, sheesh, we'll get separate rooms," he said
dejectedly.
     "And then I was going to take a long, hot
bubble bath," she continued on.
     Mulder  swallowed deeply. Scully in a
bathtub. Naked. Hot water over her body, patches of
creamy skin peeking out from under a mountain of
bubbles. Her body concealed by a white foam that
would reveal her to him if he simply let out a large
breath of air. A long trail of clothes parading around
the bathtub. First her blouse, then both high heels,
and her skirt, running into two thigh-highs and a
garter belt, then her bra and finally her panties,
leading to where she had gotten into the tub. He
would come in and she would arch an eyebrow, she
would only give that concession when he pulled his
clothes off, just as naked as she. And he would
climb into that tub, feel her pressed against him,
under him as he carefully leaned over and kissed her
. . .
     "Mulder? Hello? Earth to Mulder, you're
out of our galaxy!"
     He almost jumped when she waved her
hand in front of him. Instead he just turned to look at
her, blinking. He was suddenly very aware of his
body as he felt himself press against his pants. He
pulled the duffel bags in front of him, to hide his
painful arousal.
     "What?" he asked, frowning. All he could
see was her slightly open mouth, the way her pink
tongue darted out to lick her lips and then retreated.
He looked away. Deep breaths, calming breaths.
Think of something unattractive. A mental picture of
Frohike came to mind and he withered like a flower.
     "Mulder, where were you just then?" Scully
asked.
     He turned to look over at her, now able to
put the duffel bags at his side again.
     "I was just, uh, thinking, about, um, the
beach," he said, relieved when he saw a sign.
     She frowned. "What about it?"
     "Well, I mean, it's late, and there'd be
nobody there, and how about we go for a little
midnight swim?" he asked.
     Knowing he was lying through his teeth,
but deciding that he must have a good reason, she let
the subject drop, and smiled. "Great, but, I don't
have a swimsuit."
     He gave her a devilish grin. "Who says you
need one?"
     "You're right. I have an extra outfit in here.
I'll just go swimming in my clothes," she said,
misunderstanding his statement on purpose.
     He took her hand and they continued on
towards the nearby beach, when he noticed a
jangling at her wrist. "Are you wearing a bracelet?"
he asked immediately.
     She paused a moment. "It's the ID bracelet
you gave me for my birthday. Or, rather, you bought
for me. I kind of gave it to myself."
     He stopped mid-stride and turned to look at
her in awe. "You kept it?" he asked, his voice
cracking.
     "I haven't taken it off since I took it out of
your storage shed," she admitted.
     Mulder was in shock. She had kept it. She
had taken that dumb little ID bracelet and put it on
her wrist and never taken it off. It touched him
deeply that she thought so much as to do that. She
put her head down. "It helps me feel closer to you,"
she conceded, feeling more than a little childish and
waiting for a wry response from him. When he
didn't oblige her with one, she looked up at his face.
     His eyes were watery. "That means a lot to
me, Scully," he breathed. "More than you'll ever
know." He brought her hand up and delicately kissed
the skin just over the bracelet.
     She bit her lip, and then took both of his
hands in hers. She pulled them up so she could see
his wrists, and then let the left one drop to his side.
He was wearing her watch. The one she had sent
him.
     "Same for me," he said, his voice
dangerously low. "I haven't taken it off since. It's a
good thing it's waterproof."
     She laughed, leaning towards him, and
looking up at him, fighting to keep tears back. She
nestled her head against his chest, caressing his hand
gently. "Little pieces of each other we carry around,"
she mumbled.
     "Well I think it'd be kind of hard to fight if I
had to carry you around whole," he joked. He put
his arms out and hugged her close to him for a long
moment before they continued on.
     "So what were *you* going to do if I
wasn't here?" she asked.
     Mulder sighed dramatically. "I would have
bribed my superiors to tell me where you were and
then I'd swim there."
     "And what would you do when you got
there?" she asked.
     He grinned, and then quickly leaned over
and pulled her into his arms, so her neck was
supported by one arm and her legs by the other.
"This, of course. And then, I'd carry you away with
me to search for UFOs."
     "My best date yet," she said wryly. "Would
I get take-out?"
     "Only the best for you, Scully."
     "Oh, be still my heart," she said, laying a
hand to her chest. He continued sauntering towards
the beach, about a hundred yards away. Scully could
hear the water pounding against the sand, the sweet
and familiar smell of the sea drifting towards her.
She glanced around. Several people were staring as
he carried her. "Mulder, put me down, people are
starting to look at us funny," she admitted,
motioning towards one couple who gave them a
disapproving look.
     "Scully, you should know me better than
that. I never care what people think of me," he
declared. In response, he pulled her tighter against
him. Scully watched the sounds of the city recede
into nothingness as they neared the beach. The
ocean water was dark, churning against the sand. He
set her upright on her feet when they reached the
sand, twisting her body so she slid against him as he
brought her down. A wave of longing and lust swept
over him the moment he looked in her eyes. God,
they were so close. He could see every detail of her
face, a face he hadn't seen in so long. If he just
leaned forward, just a little bit, he would be kissing
her. The mere thought sent his head reeling, a
tingling feeling developing in his fingers and other
extremities. He hadn't kissed her since that day in
the airport. He wondered if she would still let him
take such pleasures five months later.
     Scully's heart was pounding as she peered
into his eyes. They were going dark, darker than
she'd ever seen them, not unlike the last time they
had been this close. Her breath caught as her mind
filled with the thought that he was going to kiss her.
It drowned out everything else, the roar of the ocean,
the sounds of the city faraway. It was just her and
him, and he was going to kiss her again. He was
close to her. So close she could feel his breath upon
her parted lips, see his eyes dimming. His voice
rumbled in his throat, slightly hoarse. "Am I still
going to get my welcome home kiss?" he teased. She
swallowed deeply. Kissing Mulder. Now. Here.
Away from Washington and all the other reminders
of what he was to her, what he had to be.
     Just her partner.
     Just her friend.
     Crossing the boundaries, stepping over the
rules didn't matter here. Mulder was safe, he was
alive, and he was here with her. Every moment had
to count, because soon she would be without those
dark chocolate eyes and that soothing voice. She saw
the feelings reciprocated in Mulder's eyes. If his
tongue never spoke them, she knew and he knew she
knew.
     "We're not home yet, Mulder," she said
softly. But she reached a hand up to touch the side
of his face anyway. So close . . .
     He pulled her closer to him, and fire shot
through her body like an arrow. "Where is home,
Scully?" he asked. His voice was dark, and her
breaths grew quicker.
     "Home is back in the United States, back in
Washington."
     He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in
pain, and then opened them. When he did she saw a
conflict of emotions in his eyes. A battle of wills
churning in those tortured, hazel depths. Finally,
after much contemplation, she suspected, he spoke.
"Not for me. That apartment in Washington
wouldn't be home. It would just be an apartment in
Washington-"
     "If what?" she pressed.
     His voice dropped so low it was barely
audible. "If you're not there. Anywhere I'm with
you is home enough for me." He tenderly wiped
away a slosh of red hair lying loosely against her
forehead.
     Her eyes studied his face for a long time,
just standing there with him under the moonlight.
Recognizing the pain on his face, the struggle it had
cost him to say that to her. And she saw *it* there.
That unspoken word that had been missing from
their all-too-infrequent letters. It shone from his eyes
with a clarity that surprised her. Carefully, she stood
on tiptoe, her hands drawing his face down, and
kissed him softly. It was a tiny touch, a press of her
lips against his. But it spoke volumes for each of
them. She broke away, studying his face for a
reaction, and saw him watching her for the same
thing. She smiled, a slow, secretive smile, coy and
excited, as if she was doing something she wasn't
supposed to.
     Mulder grinned. "Oh come on, that wasn't
a *real* kiss," he dared. "You didn't kiss me like
that at the airport."
     She winked at him and her smile grew
larger, less bashful and more playful. "Well as I
remember you did a little bit on your part for that
kiss in the airport, too."
     With that off-the-wall statement, she
quickly ran her hand down his chest, before turning
and taking off at a breakneck pace for the ocean.
Giddy, she turned, and watched him chase after her.
She glanced around at the deserted beach and then
back at Mulder.
     "What the hell, he's seen me in my
underwear before," she muttered. She continued
running down the beach only this time she began
unbuttoning her blouse. She finally got it undone,
and threw it to him, losing her shoes as she ran. She
reached the ocean, and turned back. Mulder was
gathering her clothes and coming towards her. She
pulled her pantyhose and skirt off quickly, and then
ran into the water, ducking under just as he
approached her.
     She turned back once she was farther out.
     "Hi Mulder!" she yelled.
     "Scully, what are you doing?" he called.
     "Come out here and I'll show ya!" she
replied, feeling giddy again. He pulled off his clothes,
and dove into the water, swimming out to her. The
moon had risen, shining down upon them. He
surfaced about five feet from her, wet hair clinging
tightly to his scalp, a smile lighting up his face. She
swam over to him, jumping the waves to keep her
head above the water. He grabbed her and kissed her
as a wave crashed over them, sending them toppling
over one another and coughing.
     Scully started laughing, which made the
coughing worse. They headed back to the shore, and
he slapped her on the back several times as she
laughed. "Why does that always work in the
movies?" she asked.
     He chuckled and spit up some more water.
"Because there's no such thing as the tide in the
movies," he answered. Standing under the starlight,
he let his eyes gaze appreciatively over her barely
clothed body. She may as well have been naked for
all the protection her white bra and panties did for
her. He could see the dusky outline of her nipples
pushing at the thin material of her bra, and the
shadowy triangle at the apex of her thighs. His eyes
traveled down her curvy form, admiring the way her
waist dipped before flaring into her hips, the perfect
shape of her slim, short legs, and the way she offered
herself up to his eyes.
     Scully forced herself to stay still and not
cover herself through his examination. In an effort to
divert her mind, she gazed at him, feeling wicked. As
if she was doing something she wasn't supposed to
(although she was sure if a cop happened by they
would be definitely arrested for indecent exposure).
It didn't feel wrong to be here, with him, but it made
her want to say instinctively that they shouldn't be
doing this, no matter how right it felt. But at that
moment, she couldn't think of a single reason why
they shouldn't. It made little sense to her, and she
was sure it would make even littler sense to Mulder.
Her eyes took in the tightness of his chest and arms.
Being in the army had bettered his physical
condition, if nothing else, she thought. She had
never seen him in such good shape, and she had
seen him barely clothed many times. She let her gaze
travel downward, holding her breath at the way the
boxers completely molded his figure. The
Shakespearean phrase "a man of wax" suddenly
came to mind. Her mouth opened slightly, and she
forced down a mewling sound. She looked farther
down, his legs strong. Her body suddenly yearned to
feel them against her, covered in sticky sweat, and
her face flushed with the thought.
     "What?" Mulder asked suddenly.
     Her gaze met his hesitantly, her blue eyes
swimming in his. "Um, nothing," she said to his grin.
"What?" she demanded when he began to laugh. He
clutched his sides, tears spurting out of the sides of
his eyes. He fell to the ground.
     "I never thought I would ever see you
blush, Scully. You're as red as a strawberry! My
eyes are up here!" he said, rolling on the sand. It
clung to his wet body as he continued laughing.
Scully crossed her arms over her chest and huffed,
tapping her foot. He stood up reluctantly, soft
chuckles still escaping his throat. He rolled his
shoulders in a pitiful attempt to relieve himself of the
sand on his back and other more uncomfortable
places. She was still looking at him. "Ah, hell,
Scully," he said, reaching over to her. He put an arm
around her waist, and pulled her close to him, his
mouth grinding against hers. Angry, but not willing
to deny the pleasant sensations he was stirring in her
body, she leaned against him. His tongue prodded at
her lips, and she opened them willingly, her thighs
spreading at the same time. His hand traveled
possessively down her to the small of her back,
pushing her against him there. She gasped into the
kiss as she felt his arousal nudging her stomach. His
tongue was hot and wet as it danced with hers in a
timeless ritual of passion. She took dips of his
mouth, and she heard him groan low in his throat as
she felt his hips shift restlessly against hers. Fire
pooled in her core, making her writhe.
     When he finally did pull away, his eyes
were black as coal, dark as desire. "I want you," he
murmured against her lips. As if to emphasize the
fact, he pulled her tighter against him, rubbing
himself against her. "Now. Tonight. I want you," he
repeated.
     She swallowed convulsively. "Mulder . . ."
     "Dana," he begged.
     "Let's go get a hotel room," she said
finally, choosing her words very carefully. "One with
two beds."
     His nodded. "Okay."
     Her heart was breaking. She wanted to tell
him something. She wished he could know what she
felt, but it couldn't be with looks or actions, this
emotion. I need the words Mulder, she thought. I
want you to, I want to share this with you, but I need
those damn words. "Come on, Mulder, let's go," she
said.
     He pulled on his clothes, and watched her
pull her skirt and blouse on. Her body seemed to
glow in the moonlight, making her appear as an
ethereal being, some goddess who had come down
from the heavens and blessed him with her presence.
"Dana," he said softly. She looked up from where
she was concentrating more than she needed to on
the buttons of her blouse. His gut ached, making him
physically sick. He wanted to tell her so bad. He
wanted to tell her the clichéd three little words that
were repeated without care by so many people. A
word seldom remembered, but often heard, he
thought, remembering a line in some song he had
heard. He knew how much that word meant to her,
how much it meant to him. If he said those words
now there would be no going back for either of
them. He would never be able to part from her again
if he told her how he felt. It would have to be him
and her together forever. He would certainly not be
able to go back to the war, let her go back to her
ship. If he told her what he was almost certain he felt
right now, he would be killing himself. He would
have to let her go, and his heart would break and life
would be empty without her. Life had already
seemed empty these past five months.
     She looked up at him, her eyes studying
him curiously. He reached out and buttoned up her
blouse for her. "If I- if we-" he paused, not being
able to say the right words to let her know. So he
looked in her eyes. And he saw it reciprocated there.
Everything he felt shone clear and bright in her eyes.
"I'll never be able to let you go," he whispered.
Tears shone in her eyes.
     "I know. And I feel the same way. It would
end up hurting more than it helps," she said quietly.
He put an arm around her, picking up their duffel
bags. She put her arm around his waist, and they
began to walk quietly away from the beach. "You
know how I feel," she said. It wasn't a question.
"It's already going to be hard to leave. If we- it will
be impossible."
     "So you're saying we should forget about
it," he accused.
     She tilted her head, resting it on his
shoulder with a sigh. "That's not what I'm saying. It
would never work, even if we wanted to forget about
it. I'm just saying that we . . . should wait. Just not
say it, just not yet. We know what we mean, but we
can't say anything or do anything, not yet."
     "When, then?" he asked. "God, Scully,
we've waited so long, it took us such a long time to
finally wake up and realize, and I couldn't tell you in
a letter. It wouldn't be fair to you. I swore it would
be the first thing I would say to you when I got back
to you. I know how I feel, Scully. And I don't want
to go on pretending. I did that for seven damn years,
I don't think I can do it for another seven until this
war's over."
     She stopped, turning him to face her. She
leaned up and kissed him hard. "Don't say that,
Mulder. Don't say that," she begged, putting her
face in his chest and hugging him tightly. He hugged
her back. "It'll end, and we'll have all the time in the
world, I promise."
     "How do you know?" he asked.
     She pulled away. "Mulder, for the past five
months, I've started going back to Church," she
confessed. "I can't on the boat, but there's a prayer
group composed of about thirty of us. And I pray
every night."
     He gazed down at her and then put his
hands in the area of her neck, searching until he
found the tiny gold cross on its tiny chain. "I always
knew you had a believer in you."
     "You're going to believe when you hear
what else I've got tell you," she continued. She took
his arm, and they continued, walking along the
darkened streets which were filled with less people.
"I asked God for one special thing every night," she
said. Her voice was getting choked up. It was hard to
hold back the tears. Her heart ached. "Every night,"
she continued, as he gripped her hand tightly in his,
"I prayed that He would let me see you. I prayed
every night for it, and now I'm here with you. And
we're together."
     His own eyes filled with tears. He knew
how hard it must have been for her to turn back to
her religion. She had given it up at a great price, for
science, and he knew that in some part of her soul
she had always regretted the choice. That was why
she kept that cross around her neck. She had
confessed it to him one night, late and long ago. She
was crying openly now, the tears flowing down the
sides of her face. He brushed them away gently. "I
care about you so much, Mulder. And I asked every
night, I begged God to let me see you.
     "And I don't believe that He would keep us
apart for much longer. It's going to end, the war is
going to end soon. I can feel it. So you have to trust
me on this. If we act on this, if we say anything,
we're going to have to leave in a day, and I won't be
able to leave you, and you won't be able to leave
me. So we can't, not yet," she explained. Mulder
listened. "I'll make a deal with you," she offered.
     He turned to her as they neared the main
street. "What?"
     "July fourth," she said simply. "The war is
going to end on July fourth, 2000."
     He tilted his head at her. "Where did you
get this fountain of knowledge?" he asked.
     Scully shook her head. "I'm serious. July
fourth."
     "How do you know?" he questioned.
     She smiled. "Mulder, haven't you ever had
a premonition? Call it . . . a hunch. An extreme
hunch."
     "Extreme being the operative word," he
commented. "But then again," he said, leaning down
and kissing her forehead, "I've always been one to
believe in extreme possibilities. Did I tell you what
happened to me a few weeks ago?" he asked.
     She shook her head no as they stopped in
front of a hotel.
     "Well, we were bringing in a group of
Chinese POWs . . ."

     Scully awoke the next morning her head
pillowed on Mulder's shoulder, listening to the
steady rhythm of his breathing. She sat up. She was
dressed in his khaki shirt, which hung down to her
knees. She hadn't thought to bring any pajamas, so
he had "loaned" her his shirt. Mulder was sleeping
only in his boxers. She watched him while he slept.
They had chattered on most of the night, even while
he took a shower and she stood outside, wishing she
was in there with him. All the things they couldn't
say in their letters seemed to pour out, including
their agreement not to say the words until the war
was over. Until they were home and assured that
they could never be separated from each other again.
She had slept with him, but they hadn't done
anything in another silent pact. Not until they were
safe. But she had needed to be held as much as he
did, and the rooms were rather expensive for the
mediocre pay they received. So what if it was a
single? It didn't seem to matter to her. She knew in
her heart what she felt, and that lying here with him
was right. She had never entertained this type of
fantasy. She had thought about what it would be like
to make love with Mulder, but for some reason, she
had never thought of the morning after. Or later
mornings. She hadn't thought of going to sleep by
him some nights without making love, only having
him hold her in his arms, like they were an older
married couple who didn't feel the need to exercise
their love every night, to prove to each other how
much they cared. She would have liked to have been
able to make love with him last night. But since she
hadn't, and she knew they couldn't, she pretended.
She toyed with his short hair, watching him sleep
and pretended just for a moment that they were back
in Washington. And that it was July fourth, 2000.
The war was over. They had been able to say how
they felt. She thought of the bracelet on her wrist as
her wedding band, and the watch she'd noted with
delight that he was wearing as his. Married to
Mulder. The thought struck her as ridiculous at first.
Mulder was too much the bachelor to settle down.
He didn't eat healthy, watched cheesy porn flicks,
didn't clean up his apartment.
     But then again, she reflected, wasn't that
true of almost all bachelors? The single, never-
married men she'd met had been untidy, with little
or no food in the house and a yearly subscription to
Playboy. Maybe Mulder wasn't that different at all.
     In retrospect, if you discredited his sister's
abduction, and all the conspiracy and pain
surrounding the X-Files, which now seemed
irrelevant in light of the war, we're normal, she
thought. She chuckled. Fox Mulder and Dana
Scully. Couple un-extroardinare. The shaking
motion of her body stirred her bedfellow. He opened
his eyes and  yawned, staring up sleepily at her.
"What's the matter?"
     She smiled, putting a finger to his lips.
"Nothing, dear," she said, biting her lip to keep from
laughing. And old married couple. She could see
Mulder hobbling around on a cane telling their
grandchildren about all the weird cases they'd
investigated.
     He sighed, and closed his eyes again.
"Okay, ‘night Dana."
     Her smile grew broader. She leaned down
and whispered in his ear, "Fox?"
     "Don't call me," he muttered.
     "No, it's important. Listen, will you marry
me?"
     He sprang upright, staring wide-eyed at her.
His eyes looked so huge she resisted the urge to
reach forward, preparing to catch them when they
fell out of his head. "Marry you?" he asked.
     "Well, I didn't know the idea repulsed you
so much," she teased.
     "Hell no!" he shouted. He grabbed her in
his arms and kissed her, locking her body with his
and pinning her down against the bed. "Scully, I-"
     Her face went dark, and he bowed his head.
"I caught myself," he said. "But . . . I don't
understand."
     "When this war is over, will you marry
me?" she asked again.
     "You want to marry me," he said, repeating
the fact to himself. A mantra sounded in his head.
Marryhermarryhermarryhermarryhermarryher.
"Since when?"
     She pushed him up and rolled over so his
body was pinned under hers. "I was just lying here,
and I was thinking, well, about us," she said softly,
toying with his chest hair. She drew tiny circles
around the dark patch, avoiding his face. "I was
thinking about you and me, and I started thinking
about what would happen if we had kids. I was just
thinking about you telling our grand children stories
about our cases, and the war. I could just see it so
clearly in my head." She chanced a look up at his
face.
     Bewilderment ran rampant through his
features. "Our children," he said, running the words
over his tongue like an unfamiliar taste. "You Scully
women plan long-term, doncha?"
     "What are you, scared?" she asked.
     He frowned. "Of course not. You know that
I . . . feel that way about you," he said, choosing his
words with great care. "But this war is playing with
our minds. I don't think we could ever have
admitted not to admit how we feel if it hadn't
pushed it to us."
     "You think I'm rushing it," she stated
bluntly.
     "No. I think that you might not mean it the
way you think you do," he said gently.
     She sighed, putting her head down until her
forehead touched his. "I want to marry you," she
declared. She stared deeply into his eyes, losing
herself there, not sure where Mulder stopped and
Scully began. He was part of her and she was part of
him. Mulder knew it as he kept staring into those
azure depths. She meant what she said. He felt as if
his soul was merging with hers, if such a thing were
possible. She *was* him.  She was the other half of
his soul, and they kept converging into one as he
stared into her eyes. He looked there and knew. She
was his, and he was hers and they were stuck with
each other whether they liked it or not. He kissed her
hungrily, as if he were trying to devour her, and she
responded with the same passion. When the kiss
ended, he looked up at her.
     "Of course I'll marry you, Dana. Of course.
Just promise me one more thing," he said. She
looked up at him, filled with the overwhelming urge
to kiss him again.
     "What?"
     "We don't name any of our kids after me."

     Mulder and Scully spent the rest of the day
talking. They toured Rome, looking at all the ancient
ruins. Many had been destroyed when the Chinese
invaded. Spray paint marked several, making ruins of
the ruins, Mulder joked. It made Scully angry to see
all this hard work, to preserve the past, to show
people bits and pieces of history, gone to waste
because of a greedy dictator.
     She was still talking about it when they got
back to their hotel that night. Dusk was just settling
on the city. She stood at the window, the golden rays
bathing her in their light and making her hair look
like gold on fire. Mulder took in her beauty with
much more appreciation than what he had shown
the ruins.
     "All that work, just gone to waste in three
weeks while the Chinese took control. It's so
unfair!" she complained. She tugged on her black
tank top that hung loosely from out of her black
spandex shorts.
     Mulder got up off the bed from where he
was laying and sauntered over to her, flipping on the
radio by the bed as he did so. He came up  behind
her and rubbed her shoulders softly. "Don't get
yourself all worked up. Moai will be put in his place.
Just like that Chimney son of a bitch back in
Washington will," he said, his voice steady. "And
they aren't wasted. They just carry another mark of
history," he assured her. His hand moved in rhythm
with the music, and slowly, he began to gyrate his
hips against hers. She started to move against him
and then turned around so they could dance. She put
her arms around his waist and he did likewise,
turning their bodies and pressing against her. An
announcer came on, blabbering on in Italian. Mulder
caught words that sounded like "soldier" and
"America" but he couldn't be sure. He was so intent
on Scully, on moving their entwined bodies to the
music, the smell and feel of her in his arms that he
hardly noticed when a slower song came on and the
singer began her song in English.
     "Hold me close, baby please, tell me
anything, but that you're gonna leave."
     Mulder pulled her even closer. He never
wanted to let her go. Ever. He wished she could stay
with him forever. She had done so much for him.
She had been there for him for the past seven years
of his life. He depended on her, he needed her in his
life. How could he have even thought of not
marrying her? Marrying her would just formalize
everything. It would do nothing more than just show
everyone that he had every intention of spending his
life with Dana Scully. He realized that he had always
thought of his future as his future *with Scully*.
And now he had a guarantee.
     "As I kiss this fallen tear, I promise you I
will be here."
     Mulder tilted her head up so he could gaze
at her eyes. He felt like he was drowning in those
clear crystal blue pools of emotion. One hand still
keeping her pressed firmly against him, the other
smoothed over her face, stroking the sides, her chin,
her forehead. Her eyes kept affixed to his face as he
continued his hand's journey to her earlobe, running
over the rim. He wanted to make love to her. More
than anything, he wanted to express himself some
way, by some means. He knew it shouldn't be.
Mulder had always been very good at squashing
down his emotions and not letting anyone in or
admitting them to himself. But this was different.
     "Until the stars fall from the sky, until I find
a reason why."
     It was different because he knew what he
felt for Scully. He knew the word she wouldn' t let
him say, knew it as sure as his own name. Most of
the time when he kept his emotions inside it was
because he didn't have the word for what he felt.
Words couldn't express what he felt.
     "And darlin' as the years go by, until
there's no tears left cry, until the angels close my
eyes."
     Words had always seemed inadequate for
him. Physical communication, body language had
been more his style.
     "And even if we're worlds apart . . . I'll find
my way, back to you, by heart."
     He needed words now. He couldn't write
body language in a letter. He needed the words, he
wanted the words. He wanted to give her the words.
He wanted to whisper them softly against her skin as
he drove her towards a sweet pleasure. He had
almost slipped and spilled them at least ten times
today. He wanted to tell her. His body and heart
ached, calling out for him to do something, say
something. He was going to lose her tomorrow, she
would have to go back to her ship and he probably
wouldn't see her again for months, maybe even
years. Who knew if they would be sent back to the
US at the same time? What if she got hurt, what if
she-
     "When you go, I'll stop the clock. I won't
ever let this moment stop."
     No. He forced the dismal thought from his
mind. No, that would never happen. He wouldn't let
it happen. Scully was going to make it through the
war same as he would. It was going to end soon.
Very soon and it would be all over and he wouldn't
have to worry about it anymore. He could go back to
Washington, marry Dana, and everything would be
just fine.
     "Time is stealing you from me, but it can
never take this memory."
     He could tell her those three words he
longed to say, to hear her say back to him. Yes, it
would happen. He was sure of it now.
     "Until the stars fall from the sky, until I find
a reason why, and darlin' as the years go by," the
singer continued, her clear voice cutting through.
     Scully hadn't thought at all during their
dance. She had just held onto Mulder for dear life,
afraid he would disappear if she let him go. She
wished she had realized how she felt for him back in
Washington. It would have been so much easier. She
was a doctor, she could have fixed the records to
keep them from going to war. Now she didn't have
the chance to tell him how she felt. She couldn't risk
hurting him like that, hurting herself, when it came
time for her to leave, to go back to her ship. She
clung tighter to him, not willing to be any farther
from him than she had to be.
     "Until there's no tears left to cry, until the
angels close my eyes, and even if we're worlds apart.
I'll find my way back to you, by heart."
     Scully paused, listening to the words of the
song. Then she pulled away and looked into
Mulder's eyes which were wet with silent tears. She
led him to the bed and they lay down together.
Softly, she began to press kisses all over his face,
stroking his arm. Finally she gave into the tears
herself, and he put his face in her neck as she lay her
head upon his.
     "Until the stars fall from the sky, until I find
a reason why, and darlin' as the years go by, until
there' no tears left to cry, until the angels close my
eyes."
     "I can't lose you again, Dana," he
whispered. "Not after I've just really found you."
     Her lip quivered as the tears rolled down.
"You won't, I promise. And I'm not going to lose
you, understand? Trust me on this, Mulder."
     "I've never doubted you," he whispered.
"I'll never doubt you. You're all I believe in
anymore, Scully. You're everything to me."
     She swallowed. "We're gonna be okay,
Mulder, I promise. Somehow, we'll be all right."
     "And even if we're worlds apart. I'll find
my way back to you, by heart."

     Scully awoke in the darkness to the sound
of pounding on her door. She glanced at Mulder,
who was sleeping with his head on her shoulder, his
arms securely around her hips. She stroked his head
and then slipped away from him, going to the door
and opening it. Chessie stood there, her eyes wide.
"Come on, Dana, we have to go."
     "Chessie, what happened?" she asked.
Shouting was coming from the streets. In the
distance, Scully could hear bombs.
     Chessie ran a hand through her hair
nervously. "It's the Japanese. They got control back
from Israeli forces sometime during last night, and
they're heading back here again. We've got to go.
Captain Rodriguez wants us back to the ship in
twenty minutes. I've got to go find the rest of the
crew. I was looking in all the hotels when I saw
Mulder's name on the guestbook. I figured you two
would probably be together," she said in a rush.
     Scully stared at her friend, letting all the
information seep in. "All right. I'll be there," she
said. She turned and shut the door. Mulder had
woken up and switched the light on.
     "I heard," he said before she could open her
mouth.
     Her lip quivered. "I have to go, Mulder,"
she apologized.
     He nodded. "I know. I should probably
report back, too. They'll want us as backup in case
the Japanese break through your blockade." He
stood, running a shaky hand through his hair. A
moment later Scully hurled herself at him, clinging to
him desperately, wishing she could absorb him into
her and carry him with her. Hot tears sprang up into
her eyes.
     "I don't want to leave you," she burst out,
sobbing. "It's not fair I have to leave, it's not fair. I
just found you again. It isn't fair!"
     He pulled her close, feeling tears running
down his own cheeks. "I know, Dana, I know," he
soothed. He leaned back slightly so he could look
into her eyes. "But everything is going to be all right.
Remember? We've got to trust in each other, and
we'll get through this," he promised. He leaned
down and kissed her passionately, their salty tears
conjoining at their mouths. When he finally pulled
away it was with a great reluctance. The words
coursed through him. Dammit, why couldn't he say
them? He couldn't stand this holding back.
     She looked up at him. "Write me
something," she said desperately.
     He stared curiously at her. "What?"
     She rummaged through the drawer of the
hotel nightstand and quickly found paper and pen
waiting there. "Write me something. A quick letter,
anything, while I pack. Please."
     He nodded. "Okay, Dana. I will."
     She kissed him again and began to pack up
her duffel bag.
     He folded the letter while she waited, and
handed it to her as he walked her to the door of the
hotel room. She opened the door, and then turned,
looking up at him. "This is it," she said, her heart
heavy.
     Mulder shook his head violently. "This is
nothing, Dana. This is only the beginning. Trust
*me*. This is all far from over."
     "Isn't that what Roman Strauss said to
Gray Baker in Dead Again?"
     He leaned over and kissed her. "Maybe we
were in World War Two as well," he whispered.
"You know how I feel."
     She hugged him tightly, and then kissed the
side of his cheek. "I always have," she said. She
briefly touched the skin around the watch she had
given him, and he did the same with her ID bracelet.
     She gazed into his eyes once more,
memorizing his face, and with a tiny kiss on the lips,
she turned and left, his letter clutched in her hand.

     In her private quarters aboard the USS
Roswell, Dana Scully lay down. She was tired, but
unwilling to sleep. A blockade had been established,
and although the Roswell was on active duty, she
wasn't immediately needed. So she sat in her
quarters and carefully took out the letter Mulder had
given her before she left their hotel room.
     Her eyes darted over it, leaving her with a
big smile on her face.

Dear Dana,
     Nothing will tear us apart, you must know
that. We've survived aliens, men in black, genetic
mutants, deadly serial killers, fetishists, months of
separation when the X-Files were shut down and
we've faced the wrath of Skinner, and death. As I've
said before, what makes you think an itty bitty thing
like a war can do any more damage? You're in my
heart, Dana. You've always known that, I hope.
You've made yourself a nice little place in there over
the past seven years. I care about you more than I've
ever cared for anyone in my entire life. You have to
know that.
     When we have kids, let's name them
Romulus and Remus. You know who those guys
are, don't you? And besides, there's no way I'm
cursing my kids with this name.
     Oh, and by the way- do you think I looked
pretty when I was a woman in my past life?

                         Lo
Much care,

          Mulder (or Muldera)

     Dana smiled as she folded the letter back
up. She took out a piece of paper and a pen, starting
her own letter.

Dear Mom,
     I got engaged to a man in Rome, and
you're never going to guess who it was . . .


end part 2