Title: Once in a Lifetime (1/1)
Author: Toniann
E-Mail: ts19@cornell.edu
Rating: NC-17
Category: MSR
Spoilers/Timeline: This story is set sometime in season seven, after "Closure" 
but before "all things", and diverges to AU henceforth.
Keywords: undercover, romance, Scully POV.
Summary: When Mulder and Scully are forced to live a "normal life" together, 
they find it all too easy to leave their pasts behind.

Archive: Rinse, reuse, repeat. If you are so kind as to wish to archive this 
story, please email me at ts19@cornell.edu and let me know where.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. But don't let that stop you from reading.

Acknowledgments: A great big lump of gratitude goes out to Andrea, Kayla, 
Michelle and Elyse, who each took a look at this story when it was half-done and 
I was wondering if it was worth finishing. And a second equally potent dose to 
fuzzy and Michelle, for reading through the finished product.

Author's Note: Well, I started an archive of undercover MSR fics, and I thought 
I should contribute one of my own. The town of Cedar Heights, NY is entirely 
fictional. There's certainly no X-file here, and not even a real casefile. Just 
UST and MSR, so shippers, sit back and enjoy.
_____________________________________________________

And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right?...Am I wrong?
(Talking Heads)



Dana Scully thought it was, in a way, rather pathetic that she was incapable of 
making small talk with a man she'd known for seven years. Even if he was her 
boss.

Sitting there in A.D. Skinner's office, waiting for late-as-usual Mulder, the 
silence was somewhat ridiculous. Skinner was a good boss, overall. And he'd 
stuck his neck out for the two of them countless times. For awhile there, she'd 
been suspicious of his loyalties -- but Mulder said he was compromised, not his 
fault, doing the best he could to look out for their interests. So, she trusted 
Skinner. After all, she'd held a gun on the man and had kissed him in an 
elevator. Not on the same day, of course. Still, it had to say something about 
the intimacy of their relationship, and yet they couldn't even manage to talk 
about the weather.

"So," Skinner began again, in an over-hearty tone, "I trust your mother is doing 
well?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. In fact, she's leaving tomorrow to visit my brother 
Charlie in the Philippines."

"Really? Will it be a long visit?"

Scully frowned a little; surely Skinner didn't find her mother's vacation plans 
*that* interesting. "Yes, actually, she'll be there for some time. She's looking 
forward to spending a lot of time with her grandchildren. It was hard on her 
when Charlie got stationed out of the country last year."

"Of course," he responded somewhat absently, shuffling papers around on his 
desk. "Actually, Agent, that's probably for the best."

Before she could question him regarding that last, odd statement, the door swung 
open noisily; both heads turned as Mulder entered the room with a quick sheepish 
grin of apology. "Sorry I'm late, sir," he said, sitting down and making a 
cursory attempt to straighten his tie. She restrained herself for reaching over 
and doing it for him. "Traffic," he belatedly offered as explanation.

Skinner waved the explanation aside. "We weren't here long. But I wanted to wait 
until you were both present so that I could answer what I'm sure will be your 
objections all at once."

She glanced over at Mulder quickly but he shrugged his ignorance of the meaning 
behind Skinner's words. "Sir? Is this about the Mahoney case?"

"Yes, it is. You did a fine job, both of you -- I know you were in Detroit to 
investigate reports of paranormal phenomena, but busting the head of an 
international drug ring instead is nothing to sneeze at," he told them 
sincerely. "You're both to be commended."

"Well, I'm sure I speak for Agent Scully when I say that it's always nice to 
bask in the warm glow of the Bureau's approval, sir," Mulder replied 
caustically.

Skinner seemed unperturbed. "The problem is that we've known for some time that 
Mahoney had three men working directly under him, and any three of these men 
were capable of stepping in and taking his place. As a result of last night's 
raid, two of those men, James Jeffries and Garry McGowan, are in custody. The 
third, Peter Faridian, is still at large."

"What kind of leads do we have on his whereabouts?" Scully asked.

"Some good ones," Skinner replied. "And at the same time, not as many as we 
need. I feel confident that we can track him down given the right amount of 
resources committed to doing so."

Mulder nodded. "So you want us back on the case, then?"

"No, I don't. I want you both to disappear."

The awkward silence has returned, Scully thought. Irreverently she wondered if 
Mulder had automatically, albeit briefly, hoped that Skinner was suggesting a 
disappearance of the paranormal kind. "Sir--" she began, her voice registering 
the objection he had predicted. "You can't mean--"

"Yes, Agent Scully, I do mean exactly what it sounds like. The decision was made 
by the higher-ups and the guys running the show over at VCU. They think it would 
be best if both of you went into hiding until this is over."

Mulder laughed, incredulous. "Sir, that's crazy. What for?"

"We've gotten several intelligence reports from within the Mahoney organization 
that there's a price on your heads for bringing down the boss."

"So? Why not use that?" Mulder countered. "I mean, isn't that the perfect means 
to bring Faridian out into the open? Flush the organization out?"

Even as Skinner opened his mouth to reply, Scully knew Mulder was off-track. 
"Faridian would never come after us himself, Mulder," she pointed out. "He'd 
send one or several of his men -- and even if they were taken into custody, 
they're just foot soldiers. We'd be right back at square one."

"Okay, point taken," he conceded. "Still, sir, we're professionals, we know how 
to protect ourselves."

Skinner remained adamant. "I'm sure you do, though I think taking on 
professional hit men from an organization like this one is biting off more than 
you can chew. The point is, Mulder, this isn't just about your safety. It's 
about bringing down the last man standing in a huge crime organization, as part 
of an FBI investigation that has lasted years and cost the Bureau millions of 
taxpayer dollars. Now, at the finish line, VCU has a very precise plan outlined 
for bringing this Faridian in -- and that plan doesn't involve having the two 
very visible FBI agents he's out to get anywhere he can see them."

"So what are you suggesting, sir? Protective custody?" Scully asked somewhat 
warily. Mulder looked uneasy, as well he might; protective custody was a nice 
way of saying "jailed for your own good", and it would drive them both crazy.

But Skinner was shaking his head. "Nothing like that. You're going to go 
undercover in the Witness Protection Program, that's all. That's why I'm glad 
your mother is out of the country, Agent Scully. We can get a message to her, 
from you, through Bureau channels, and in the meantime she'll be safe as well."

"Thank you, sir; I wouldn't be able to agree to go along with this if my mother 
were in any kind of danger," she responded firmly.

"I understand. You'll both be perfectly safe for the duration. Faridian's men 
are on the lookout for a pair of FBI agents, not a young married couple living 
in a small town."

"Married?" Scully exclaimed, then caught herself and attempted to look 
unruffled.

Mulder smirked. "Ready to play house again, Scully?"

"Bring it on," she replied with as much conviction as she could muster.

"So that's it, then?" Mulder asked her, resigned. "You think this is the right 
thing to do?"

She smiled; from where she was sitting Skinner had given them an order, and yet 
here Mulder was asking her what their decision was going to be. You and me 
against the world, partner, she thought fondly. "A.D. Skinner made some very 
good points, Mulder. I don't pretend to understand exactly how VCU is planning 
on bringing Faridian in, but the important thing is that it gets done, right? 
Those men are the worst kind of scum."

"I know, but -- it just seems so drastic, giving up our lives for... for how 
long, exactly, sir?"

Skinner shrugged. "We have no way of knowing how long it will take VCU to pull 
this off, you know that. But they're close to something. Could be a few weeks. 
Could be a few months." Mulder and Scully both noticeably blanched, which did 
not go unnoticed by their boss. "I understand, agents. And if the investigation 
begins to drag past that, then we'll make other arrangements, rethink our game 
plan. You have my word on it."

Mulder sighed, reluctantly convinced. "So, where are we going, or is that top 
secret?"

"Yes, but not from me," Skinner replied. "I will remain in contact with you 
until Faridian is caught -- myself and an agent from the Witness Protection 
Program will be your only contacts for the duration. I'm told we'll be sending 
you to a town in western New York State, Cedar Heights. I should warn you, 
neither of you will be working within your chosen fields. For Agent Scully to 
work as a doctor or for you, Agent Mulder, to work as a psychologist would be 
too obvious. The Program will choose occupations for you that are within your 
abilities, of course."

"Okay, but keep in mind my tenor range isn't what it used to be," Mulder 
cautioned dryly.

Skinner didn't laugh. "I know I don't need to stress to either one of you the 
seriousness of your situation. You need to maintain your cover at all times. 
Most importantly, you are not to operate in a law enforcement capacity for the 
duration of the investigation. Agent Mulder, that means no haring off on 
paranormal 'leads', do you understand me?"

Mulder shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure."

"I mean it, Agent." Skinner paused, glanced at Scully, and looked down at his 
desk for a moment. Finally, he gave Mulder a piercing stare and continued 
quietly. "Our intelligence shows that Faridian bears a particular grudge against 
Agent Scully. These men don't hold women in high regard, and the fact that a 
female agent was the one to physically collar their boss has sparked a great 
deal of resentment. It's a testament to your abilities, Agent Scully. These men 
are so intimidated by your work thus far that they're seeing red."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, her voice steady.

"Nevertheless, anything you do to give away your true identities would result in 
a greater amount of danger, particularly for Agent Scully. Do I make myself 
clear?" Skinner concluded.

She glanced quickly in Mulder's direction and was not surprised to see his head 
bowed. Though she appreciated Skinner's efforts to curb Mulder's wilder flights 
of investigation -- and agreed that the enforced boredom of the next few weeks 
were likely to chafe her partner's overactive mind -- she wished he had used 
some other method to ensure cooperation. It felt like a low blow, reminding 
Mulder of the danger she was in, implying that he was responsible for her 
continued safety. Implying her safety depended on Mulder -- she resented that on 
her own behalf, as well.

"Absolutely, sir," Mulder replied finally, all sarcasm gone from his tone.

Skinner looked relieved. "Fine. That'll be all for now."

As they rose to leave, Scully paused, a mischievous smile briefly lighting her 
face. "Sir?"

"Yes?"

"This time, I get to pick the names."


**************************

Our house, was our castle and our keep
Our house, in the middle of our street
(Madness)



"You're an evil woman, Dana Scully."

"Who? And I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"Mulder-"

"Don't you mean *Jack*?" he shot back, disappearing out the front door to 
retrieve yet another box from the U-Hall.

Scully grinned to herself; the man had to expect some sort of come back for that 
"Rob and Laura Petrie" fiasco last year. Terrible names. This time around, she'd 
picked a name she felt perfectly comfortable with, a lovely name -- Ellen 
Kennedy. Ellen, for her old college friend. And "Kennedy" was a nice name, 
classic, simple.

Of course, it was kind of mean to name her partner "Jack Kennedy". At first he'd 
gotten a kick out of it, couldn't wait to tell the Lone Gunmen about his cool 
nom de plume. That elation had lasted him through the first dozen or so people 
they'd encountered -- moving companies, salesmen, rental agents, utility 
companies -- who all said exactly the same thing, "Hey, like the president!" 
First he'd laughed along with them. Then he'd sarcastically chuckled at the 
repetition. Now he was bored with it, and annoyed. Yeah, well, he could put that 
in a petri dish and stick it...

"Scully, this town is *small*," Mulder said, setting the last of the boxes down 
and collapsing on the couch. "I mean, one supermarket. One Blockbuster Video. 
One Mighty Taco. Are you sensing a pattern here? Limited options."

She smiled briefly. "It's not that bad. We won't be here forever, after all. 
Around the time you get bored we'll go home. And if you can't last that long, 
there's always the Internet."

"Virtual reality, Scully. Online experiences just aren't the same as the real 
thing," he argued dejectedly.

"You would know, I'd imagine," she muttered.

"What was that, Ellen dearest?"

"Nothing." She glanced around the room and sighed. "I'm going to explore the 
house." 

Mulder mumbled something insensible in return and she left him sprawled on the 
couch. He'd found the bathroom, the fridge, the couch, and the remote, and 
didn't seem much interested in further exploration.

Their house was small but comfortable; Ellen and Jack Kennedy weren't wealthy, 
by any means, and anything too ostentatious would have been out of place in 
Cedar Heights anyway. A small town with a population of about 5,000 -- Mulder 
was exaggerating slightly about what it lacked. Big city life it wasn't, but 
they were hardly in the back of beyond. Now, if they were stuck in some two-
horse town with five hundred residents all related to each other in some way or 
another. That, on the other hand, would've been tough to take.

Actually, she was quite happy with the house. It had a master bedroom and a 
guest room, an eat-in kitchen, a living room and a small den. There was a 
charming front porch and roses climbing up the trellis; the remains of the 
previous owners' gardening skills, she surmised gratefully. The Bureau had 
provided them with simple furniture, a little too "country-fied" for her taste, 
but perfectly acceptable.

No, she mused, it wouldn't be so bad being here. True, she wouldn't be doing her 
job, which she loved. And she was going to have to pretend to be someone she 
wasn't, again. But at least this time there wasn't a garbage monster lurking in 
the sewers. And other things were different than they were back then, as well -- 
she and Mulder were certainly getting along better, and that was something. That 
was a lot.

Idly wandering, she'd worked her way back to the living room. The couch wasn't 
leather but it did look comfy; Mulder seemed to think so, anyhow. He wasn't 
sleeping, she could tell, just dozing, jaw slack, eyes resting, legs sprawled. 

She felt her heart constrict briefly, then ease. There had been long, terrifying 
days this past year when she'd wondered if he'd ever find peace again. Until the 
end of her days, she'd never forget the image of him pacing around frantically, 
clutching his head, and screaming her name. How powerless she'd felt, unable 
even to touch him or talk to him. And then when he was gone, how frantic she'd 
been, how desperate to find him. Then, worst of all, when she did find him lying 
so still on that cold metal slab, bleeding and bruised, his mind assaulted and 
stolen from -- that was the worst, those moments, pleading with him to wake up. 
And he had, thank God. And he had.

And so they went back to work, and to life, to the X-Files, to the basement. 
They'd saved the world from mindless zombies and he'd kissed her on New Year's; 
she'd killed a monster in her apartment and he'd finally put his nightmares to 
rest. And in the midst of one of his paranormal hunts, they'd stumbled onto a 
murder, and an informant, and the head of the largest known drug ring in North 
America. Which, somehow, led them here, to Cedar Heights, to a house with green 
shutters and a porch, and a 1.5 car garage.

She leaned against the archway separating this room from the kitchen, a fond 
smile on her face. "So, Mr. Kennedy, you all settled in there?"

"My dear Mrs. Kennedy, if you were to go into the kitchen and make me a 
sandwich, I'd die a happy man," he replied wistfully.

"If you were dead, who'd eat the sandwich?"

He snickered and opened his eyes. For a few moments they grinned at each other 
companionably, but when he continued to look at her she grew uncomfortable. The 
silence lengthened between them until she sighed and slumped into an armchair.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

"For what?"

She snorted delicately. "For the last time we did this. In Arcadia. I was 
crabby."

"You were delightful, Scully, as always," he deadpanned, then shook his head. 
"Really, let's be honest -- I was a pain in the ass, if I remember correctly, 
pushing your buttons and all that. So, if you were crabby, well, I pretty much 
got what I asked for."

"Why?" she surprised herself by asking, then gamely continued on. "I mean, I'm 
still sorry for being uptight, but since you admit it, why were you trying so 
hard to annoy me?"

He shrugged. "I'm just a big kid. If we'd been in the same class in first grade, 
I'd have dipped your braids in an inkwell or something."

"I don't know about a dinosaur like you, but inkwells were significantly before 
my time," she replied, trying not to laugh.

He launched himself from the couch, heading towards the back of the house. As he 
passed, his hand skimmed her hair lightly. "If it meant getting your attention, 
Scully, rest assured I'd have gotten my hands on an inkwell."

Left alone, she felt a blush creep across her face -- then shook herself good-
naturedly and went back to unpacking. Get a hold of yourself, she thought 
ruefully, or it's going to be a bumpy ride.


**************************

Now this is one thing, baby
That I want you to know.
Come on back and let's play a little house,
And we can act like we did before.
(Elvis Presley)



"Your husband's pretty cute, I hear."

Scully glanced up, startled. "Megan, I'm sorry, I didn't even see you there." 
She smiled and placed the last book in its spot on the shelf, climbing down 
carefully from the stepladder she'd been using. "Lost in the PN's, I guess."

The other woman chuckled. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. It's so quiet here 
today, you can leave a few minutes early if you'd like."

"If you're sure," Scully asked, glancing at her watch. "That way I can give Jack 
a ride home."

"My kid sister was telling me all about her new hot gym teacher. He's certainly 
made an impression on the female student body," Megan teased. "But you must be 
used to that."

Scully laughed politely. "At his last school they had a girls' basketball team. 
Tryouts looked like the backroom of a Miss Teen USA pageant."

Megan shook her head and walked back to the circulation desk. Scully surprised 
herself, how easily the stories came to her. Lies, if she was going to be 
honest, but she felt bad calling them that -- Megan was just a few years older 
than she, the head librarian at Cedar Heights Public Library, and fun to work 
with. Scully didn't like lying to her.

Over the past two weeks they'd become friendly, Megan describing how she'd once 
had Scully's job, library clerk, and how she'd loved it enough to go back to 
graduate school and get her degree. When the head librarian (a much venerated 
and quite spry octogenarian) finally retired last year, she'd stepped into the 
job. "You should think about going yourself, Ellen," she'd commented. "You've 
picked up a lot already, I think working in a library suits you."

"It does," Scully had told her honestly, and said she'd think about it. And she 
did like working here. It wasn't as quiet as she would have expected; certainly 
there was more activity here than, say, the Hoover Building's basement. Each day 
brought in patrons young and old, and each afternoon Megan herself supervised 
the children's story hour. Scully's duties were mostly reshelving and 
circulation, nothing too complicated, and all she'd needed to do was cram for a 
few nights on the Library of Congress classification system. All of the real 
reference work and patron assistance was done by Megan and a team of two other 
librarians.

It was a busy library, but she was often able to go off by herself, shelving 
books and updating patron records, quiet work in a bustling environment. It 
wasn't rocket science, she mused, but it was peaceful. Something about the 
library's orderly nature appealed to her sensibilities, a fact that Mulder had 
predicted as soon as he'd heard of her new career.

"That's perfect, Scully," he'd crowed. "Honestly, I couldn't have picked better 
myself. I can just see you now, sitting there with your hair tucked back in a 
bun, glasses on, cardigan sweater..."

"How stereotypical you are, Mulder," she'd shot back. "For your information, the 
librarian at my public library in Georgetown is a six foot four Jamaican man 
named Zeke. When's the last time you even spoke to a librarian, anyhow?"

He'd shrugged. "You're right, Scully. I guess I was just thinking of Donna 
Reed."

"Donna Reed? You mean, in 'It's a Wonderful Life'?"

"The great American holiday classic."

"Mulder, that's my whole point. Remember? George sees her coming out of the 
library and she's all dowdy and plain-looking. Stereotype."

Mulder had just smiled. "Yeah, but she's still Donna Reed, Scully, and she still 
steals the guy's heart."

"Ellen?"

Megan's voice jolted her back to the present; she'd been shrugging into her 
jacket and obviously drifted off.

"Just wool-gathering," Scully said with a sheepish smile.

"You go get your husband," Ellen scolded her good-naturedly. "And don't forget 
that Bob and I are expecting to see you both at our barbecue this Saturday."

"We're looking forward to it," Scully replied -- again, surprised, a little, at 
how much she meant it.

The local high school was a ten minute walk away from their house, while the 
library was on the other side of town; they'd decided that in the nice weather, 
at least, she would take the car and Mulder would walk or bike or run, whichever 
suited him that day. It wouldn't fit the Kennedys' profile for each of them to 
have a car, after all, and Mulder said he wanted the exercise anyhow. Given the 
opportunity, though, Scully found she was rather looking forward to picking him 
up at work, observing him in this new, albeit false, environment.

She found the high school easily enough, but had no idea where the gym was. Most 
students had already left for the day, with after-school activities and team 
practice all that remained. Luckily, there was still a somewhat elderly 
secretary packing up in the main office. "I'm looking for the gym?" Scully asked 
her hopefully.

"And you are?" the secretary asked, not unkindly.

"I'm, um, I'm Jack Kennedy's, I'm his wife."

"Oh! Ellen Kennedy!" the other woman exclaimed, a wide smile lighting her face. 
"It's so wonderful to meet you, my dear. I've heard all about you!"

Scully was taken slightly aback. "Really?"

"Of course. Megan and Bob Harding are my next-door neighbors. I'm Abigail 
Tyler."

"Oh, I see," Scully replied, smiling. Small-town life. "It's very nice to meet 
you, Ms. Tyler."

The elderly woman chuckled good-naturedly. "Call me Abby, dear. And follow me, 
I'll point you in the right direction. I feel like I know you already. Megan has 
nothing but praise for you."

"That's very kind of her," Scully said politely, following her out into the 
hallway.

"And, your husband talks about you all the time."

Scully stopped in her tracks. "He does?"

"Oh, don't be silly, of course he does!" Abby gave her a strange look and Scully 
felt herself blush. The older woman laughed and patted her arm. "You're a sweet 
girl. And I like that husband of yours. We're all glad to have him on staff. 
Now, you just head down that stairway there, make a left, and the gym is on your 
right. You'll hear the boys making a ruckus as you get closer."

"Thank you," she murmured, moving off in the direction of the stairs. Talked 
about her all the time, did he? Saying what? Did he make up stories like she did 
with Megan, creating a history for them that had never happened? Did he describe 
things they'd never done, like vacationing in Montreal or learning how to water 
ski together? Did he picture those things, like she did, when he said them? Or 
was he just playing a part, being gregarious, painting a picture of a perfect 
wife that didn't exist even in his own mind? She sighed and pushed the thoughts 
away, unwilling to dwell on questions she had little chance of ever knowing the 
answer to.

Abby was right; she could hear shouts or encouragement and the thump of 
sneakered feet pounding the gymnasium floor just down the hall. Edging towards 
the door cautiously, she could hear Mulder's voice shouting instructions to the 
boys on the court. Peering around the room, she spotted him across the way. He 
was wearing a familiar pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt; a silver whistle 
hung around his neck and sweat lightly studded his brow.

"Michael, watch your left. Defense! Think ahead!" Mulder shouted, and she knew 
why his voice was so hoarse when he first got home in the evenings. Still, he 
looked, well, positively radiant standing over there, his face lit up, his eyes 
tracking the boys in his charge as they ran up and down the court. His focus, 
she mused, was every bit as intense as she'd seen it at any crime scene; he just 
looked a great deal happier here on the basketball court.

Someone in the Witness Protection Program must have heard about Mulder's 
basketball obsession, she mused idly, in order to choose such a perfect job for 
him. She wondered, not for the first time, how exactly they managed such things. 
How was it that there were jobs waiting and available for them in a sleepy 
little town like this, jobs they hadn't even had to interview for? Actually, it 
was Mulder who'd asked that, when they were given their assignments. The agent 
who was briefing them had given him a blank look and replied coolly that it was 
best not to ask such questions in the interest of personal and national 
security. For once, even Mulder had been demoralized into silence.

The boys took turns, swapping places with those waiting to practice on the 
bench. One tall, lanky boy with a shock of pale blonde hair slipped past her to 
bend over the water fountain just outside the doorway. He straightened and 
shuffled back inside. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked politely, pausing 
at her side in the doorway.

She smiled. "Well, I don't want to interrupt. I'm Coach Kennedy's wife; is 
practice almost over?"

"I think so," he said, glancing at the clock. "Should I tell him you're here?"

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that."

"COACH! MRS. KENNEDY IS HERE!" the boy bellowed from where he stood, causing her 
to wince.

Mulder looked over at them, startled. He met Scully's eyes and his face changed 
into something... something just as intense, just as focused. For a few 
heartbeats they stared at each other across the room, unmoving, and finally the 
moment broke when he grinned. Lifting the silver whistle to his lips, he blew 
two short, loud blasts and yelled, "That's it, guys! Practice is over."

"See you later, Mrs. Kennedy," the boy at her side called over his shoulder as 
he headed toward the locker room. She smiled at him and self-consciously walked 
across the gymnasium, nodding at the young men who passed by her with curious 
looks.

Reaching Mulder's side, she was unsurprised to see him still grinning. "Come to 
try out for the cheerleading squad?" he asked.

"What do you think the chances are that I was a cheerleader in high school?" she 
challenged.

"Actually, I happen to know you were, briefly," he replied, and answered her 
mock indignation with, "Your mother keeps an extensive photo album."

Scully rolled her eyes and laughed. "I forgot about that. And I was going to 
bait you into guessing wrong and buying me dinner."

"My dear Mrs. Kennedy, just for reminding me of the image of you in that 
cheerleading uniform, I'll take you out for a night on this two-horse town."

"Just for that, I don't even want to have dinner with you," she shot back, "Not 
if you're going to make fun of me."

He shook his head, bending over her and lowering his voice. "Who says I'm making 
fun of you? Hey, you don't still have that uniform, do you? I'm just saying, we 
could have Casual Day at the office."

"Cut it out," she laughed, swatting him on the arm. "Speaking of the office, 
Skinner called. Nothing new," she added hastily, not wanting to get his hopes 
up.

Mulder shrugged, unconcerned. "It's only been a couple of weeks."

Scully agreed, but she was somewhat surprised that Mulder wasn't more impatient. 
"Let's get out of here," she said decisively. "We'll go home, you can take a 
shower, and then I want a steak."

"Yes, dear," he replied dutifully, chuckling at her side.


**************************

What a day this has been
What a rare mood I'm in
Why it's almost like being in love
(Lerner/Loewe)



Megan's husband Bob was a chemical engineer, Scully knew, and was part-owner of 
a well-established company; their plant was located a half-hour's drive away 
from sleepy Cedar Heights. That would explain, she thought somewhat enviously, 
their absolutely gorgeous two-story farmhouse.

"It was built around 1840," Megan told them in response to their enthusiastic 
compliments. "I did some research on it a few years back, but it was nothing out 
of the ordinary -- just a farmhouse, belonging to a prosperous farmer. There 
have been a lot of improvements done since then, of course, but the basic 
structure is the same. Feel free to look around all you like."

Scully felt awkward poking around someone else's house, though she knew, left to 
his own inclinations, that Mulder would have done just that. She gave him an 
indulgent look and gestured toward the backyard.

He followed her mock-reluctantly. "You're no fun sometimes."

"Sometimes?" she questioned him.

"Yeah, just sometimes. I wouldn't want to over-generalize."

She laughed, stepping out into the sun. "Thanks Mul-"

"What were you saying, Ellen? I didn't catch that," he interjected quickly, 
grinning.

She sighed. Just the other night he'd been trying to convince her that they 
should stop calling each other by their real names for the duration of this 
"assignment", such as it was, even if no one else was around. Just to make a 
habit of it, he'd said. She'd argued that it was unnecessary and silly, that 
she'd certainly be able to remember to call him "Jack" when they were out in 
public. Now she'd gone and proven him right. Insufferable man.

The truth, of course, was just that she didn't *want* to call Mulder anything 
else... and she also didn't really want him to call her anything but Scully. It 
didn't feel real, otherwise, unless she heard him say her name in that way he 
had, the way he'd always said it, the way that was no different from anyone 
else's but special because it was, well, his voice saying it. It wouldn't feel 
real, and so much of her life right now was anything but real. She didn't think 
she could stand it if he called her anything else.

"Hey G-woman," that voice of his rumbled quietly in her ear. "You spacing out on 
me?"

Embarrassed, she realized she'd been daydreaming, something she caught herself 
doing -- or someone else caught her doing -- on a far too regular basis these 
days. It didn't help that the starring character in her daydreams was currently 
mumbling in her ear.

She gave him a bland smile and walked into the Hardings' backyard, glancing 
around for familiar faces. About fifteen adults stood in clusters, talking; five 
or six children, moving too fast to count accurately, ran wild nearby. The 
weather was warm and breezy and the sky a clear bright blue -- the perfect 
weather for an end-of-the-summer barbecue.

Scully recognized a few co-workers from the library, but the rest were strangers 
to her; Bob's friends, maybe. Most were around the same age as she, and 
apparently everyone was part of a couple. It struck her as odd, that: surely 
there were single people in Cedar Heights. But when she thought about it, as a 
single person herself, this party wasn't exactly somewhere she'd normally feel 
comfortable, surrounded by happy (or seemingly happy, she thought cynically) 
couples and families.

In fact, it was just this kind of social occasion that made her feel awkward and 
strange and, pardoning the pun, almost alien. The last time, it had been at her 
current namesake Ellen's house, a backyard picnic, celebrating a long weekend, 
Labor Day? Maybe it was Labor Day. And Scully had gone, of course, since she 
felt guilty enough about how little she saw her godson. Gone but left early, she 
remembered now, when Mulder had called from her own apartment.

"Scully, I used my key, why aren't you here? I'm incredibly bored, and there's 
this place I'm dying to check out, but I need you with me. Are you coming home 
soon? I could just wait here."

She'd left, mumbling a hasty excuse, kissing her godson good-bye (he'd squirmed 
away, far too old for such nonsense), and hurried back home to meet Mulder, 
relieved as all hell to have a reason to leave.

"Ellen, I want you to meet Sarah Lawley, she's an old college friend of Bob's," 
Megan called to her. "Sarah's a physicist. She just finished her PhD! Sar, I was 
telling Ellen she should go back to grad school, the whole 'never-too-late' 
thing. You're living proof!"

"Absolutely," the other woman agreed, smiling warmly at both of them. "So, you 
like working at the library, then?"

Scully nodded. "It's great. Megan's a terrific boss."

Megan murmured thanks; Sarah laughed. "Oh, don't be so modest, you love 
compliments. Ellen, is that your husband over there?"

She turned. Mulder had gravitated to the group of men clustered around the 
grill; beer in hand, he looked like a living, breathing advertisement for the 
American Man. "Yep, that's Jack."

"What does he do?"

"Jack teaches gym at the high school," Scully replied, reluctantly turning her 
attention back to the conversation. "That's why we moved to Cedar Heights."

"Have you been married long?" Sarah asked.

Thank goodness we mapped out our phony "past" ahead of time, Scully thought for 
the hundredth time. It amazed her, now that she was in a position to notice, how 
many times people asked questions about where you'd been and when and how. 
"About five years," she replied. Sarah looked a little surprised, though she 
nodded politely. "Why do you ask?" Scully couldn't help adding, with a nervous 
laugh.

"I just would've guessed you were, well, not newlyweds, exactly, but close to 
it," Sarah said, thoughtfully.

"Really?"

"Sure," the other woman said, laughing. "I mean, you blushed a little when you 
said his name just now."

"I did?"

"And he's watching you."

Scully turned swiftly in the direction of the grill and sure enough, Mulder was 
watching her. He met her eyes and smiled sheepishly, then shrugged. A few of the 
other men turned to see what had caught his attention; a moment later, his eyes 
left hers as he gestured and mouthed her name, Ellen, and "my wife". Strangely 
uncomfortable, she looked away and took a drink of iced tea.

Megan laughed. "Sar, you're right, she is blushing!"

"Curse of the redhead," Scully demurred with smile.

"We'll stop teasing you now, Ellen, I promise," Sarah told her, laughing. "But 
that's what I mean. My husband and I, well, I'm pretty fond of the guy, and I 
think it's mutual and all, but the blushing days are over."

"The last time Bob gazed at me like that, I'd just given him that new ride-on 
mower for his birthday," Megan mused wistfully, then smiled. "Actually, it's a 
really great mower."

Later, as they ate, Scully found herself doing a little watching herself as 
Mulder tucked away a heaping plate full of picnic food. She'd been rather hungry 
herself, she supposed, but had filled up much faster -- Mulder had, when he 
chose, a bottomless stomach. Seated at his side on the picnic bench, she noticed 
that he finally seemed to be slowing down. Or at least clearing his plate.

"Sweetie, did you want me to get you another sandwich?" she asked innocently. 
"I'm getting up for some coffee, so I don't mind."

Mulder finished his last forkful of food and wiped his mouth with a paper towel, 
then turned to look at her, his eyes mischievous. "No, honey, I think I'm 
actually full. But thank you."

"Okay," she said, and started to climb off of the picnic bench. Her movements 
were stilled by Mulder's hand, warmly pressing her jean-clad thigh. She froze in 
place.

He rose above her, his hand sliding up to her shoulder, just barely brushing her 
chest along the way. Leaning in, his mouth brushed her temple in a fluttering of 
lips as he mumbled, "Stay here, I'll get it."

Scully barely moved, once he'd gone, her hands idly shredding the paper towel 
he'd left behind. It seemed like hours later when he set a steaming cup of 
coffee in front of her and slid back into his seat.

"Thanks," she said softly, her voice sounding small.

He was sitting so close to her, his long legs stretching out beneath the table, 
his hip pressed up against hers. Though the table had been crowded before, it 
was now empty. Some of the guests, primarily those with children, had left; 
Megan was showing a couple of the women her newly redecorated family room and 
Bob and several of the other guests were at the other end of the yard, trying to 
play volleyball in the dimming twilight.

"Nice people," she commented finally, searching for something to say.

He mumbled agreement, his shoulder brushing up against her arm.

"You didn't want to play volleyball?" she asked him, silently cursing herself 
for suggesting it.

He turned and smiled at her. "Nah, not my game."

She smiled back, oddly glad that he preferred to stay here by her side making 
pointless conversation.

Still smiling, he looked away, scanning the yard and the house with his eyes. 
"This is nice."

"They have a lovely home," Scully agreed.

He turned back to her, his smile fading somewhat but his eyes warm and intense. 
"I meant... I meant this is nice, just being here."

"You sound surprised." She cringed inwardly; she hadn't meant to sound hostile.

"Aren't you?"

She looked away then, unable to meet his gaze -- she knew exactly what he meant, 
and as usual, he was braver than she to face the unfamiliar, the different, the 
strange. And as usual, inwardly, she knew he was right: it was nice, and it was 
surprising. It just didn't seem right that they were both so content here in 
Cedar Heights, working nice but normal jobs, living in a nice but simple house, 
meeting friendly people, cooking meals together, and parting ways each evening 
for their separate bedrooms, knowing the other was one thick wall away, safe and 
secure and at peace. She kept expecting Mulder to get impatient, to get antsy, 
to spend hours on the Internet reaching out to the other spooks. She kept 
expecting herself to get annoyed and frustrated, to withdraw, to avoid.

She kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, and it never did.

And now he was waiting, waiting for her answer, watching her face, such a mask 
to others, so transparent to him. She nodded, finally, and said in a low voice, 
"Yes, I am."

He sighed and shook his head, not at her, but at them. Staring down at the 
picnic table, he said, "We really are something, aren't we? We don't even know 
how to handle being happy anymore."

"Don't say that," she said quickly, and when he didn't answer she placed a hand 
on his shoulder. "I don't want to be like that."

He smiled a little then, sadly, and turned to face her again. "You're not, 
really," he assured her, his face soft and full of emotion. Her hand slipped to 
his elbow and he reached out to brush his fingertips against her cheek, slowly. 
"You're not."

Wordlessly, she leaned her face into his hand, caught up in the moment, wishing 
she had learned how to stretch time at will, to hold herself in a place in 
between breaths like this one.

"Scully..." he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're my source of happiness, 
don't you know that?"

Tears pricked her eyes and she struggled against them, her lower lip trembling. 
He saw and leaned in, his breath warm against her eyelids as he kissed each in 
turn, softly, a fluttering of lips like butterfly kisses. She drew in a deep 
breath, having suddenly remembered that she needed air to live, and found that 
both of her hands were resting against his chest. He pulled ever-so-slightly 
away and for a moment their gazes held; then all in a rush he was kissing her, 
his mouth warm and soft and damp, her lips moving against his, parting 
languidly. He cupped her face in both hands and she closed her eyes, blind and 
deaf to everything around them, the world drifting away, nothing real except for 
the feel of him beneath her hands, her lips...

"Hey you two, sorry to interrupt but it's getting cold out here," Megan's voice 
cut through the air suddenly, causing Scully to jolt back to her surroundings. 
"We're headed inside."

Mulder smiled at their host as Scully shifted her body away from his. She felt 
his arm stiffly reach around her shoulders and was reminded uncomfortably of 
their days in Arcadia. "Thanks, we'll be right in," he said to Megan.

"Actually, Jack, we should be heading home," Scully interrupted.

"Oh, do you have to? Stay awhile longer," Megan urged them.

Scully stood, moving away from Mulder's arm, a regretful but polite smile on her 
face. "I'm afraid so; we have a lot of work to do around the house tomorrow, and 
need to get an early start."

Mulder, silent, did not dispute her and soon they were making their good-byes, 
heading out towards the car. She hurried along ahead of him and had the car 
started before he'd finished climbing in. As they pulled away from the curb he 
hesitantly began, "Scully, I--"

"Remind me to check email when we get home," she interrupted him. "Maybe there's 
something from Skinner or the Gunmen."

"Sure," he replied, a question in his voice. A question she chose to ignore, 
driving the rest of the way in silence.


**************************

Imagination is silly, you go around willy-nilly
For example I go around wanting you
And yet I can't imagine that you want me, too
(J. Burke)


Surely she'd misheard him.

"You're kidding, right?" she asked, unable to keep the scorn from her voice.

He studied the ceiling for a moment and sighed. "Well, no, I wasn't. Why is it 
such a bad idea?"

"A cat? You want a cat?"

"A kitten, actually."

Scully rolled her eyes and turned a page of the book she was reading, though 
honestly she couldn't say what exactly had happened between Anna and Vronsky in 
the previous chapter. Her bedroom was small but cozy, partially thanks to the 
rose-hued lighting. Whoever had invented pink light bulbs had been on to 
something.

Mulder slouched against the doorframe, not venturing further into her sanctuary. 
Since they'd started living in Cedar Heights, somehow or other they'd stayed out 
of each other's personal space. She hadn't, actually, stepped foot in the guest 
room where he slept, not once. And he avoided her bedroom itself but saw nothing 
wrong with haunting her doorstep -- something which struck her as ironic.

"Whatever," she replied dismissively. "I can't imagine why you'd think that was 
a good idea."

He shrugged. "Greg Sommers in the math department has kittens he's trying to get 
rid of. There's one left, and he asked me. I said I'd mention it to you 
tonight."

She gave him a blank stare. "Why?"

"Scully, forget it. You obviously don't want a cat."

"And you do?" she countered. "You have fish."

"Not right now, I don't. Right now, the Gunmen have fish."

She paused for a moment, then gave him a piercing look, speaking slowly. "We're 
not going to live here the rest of our lives, Mulder. Then what?"

"What?" he shot back. "Then, we have a cat. We pack it up and take it back to 
D.C. They allow pets there."

"We?"

"Me. You. Whatever."

She looked away to her book again, tired of the conversation, especially now 
that he was outright challenging her. "Fine, Mulder. If you want a cat, you get 
a cat. You're a grown-up now, you get to pick your own pets."

"No, forget it," he mumbled, turning to go.

"Why don't you just wait until you get back home? I mean, if you still think 
it's a good idea. You have to take care of a cat, you know, Mulder. They're not 
like fish." She shook her head, exasperated. "I didn't even know you liked 
cats."

He paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. "I didn't know you didn't."

"I never said that. I just--"

"Scully, seriously, forget it," he said, cutting her off, and walked away.

A few moments later she heard his door snick shut and the house was quiet. 
Scully closed her book in resignation; she couldn't concentrate, no matter how 
much she loved "Anna Karenina". Slipping out from beneath the covers, she padded 
silently down the hallway and to the front door, avoiding the dark hulking 
shapes of furniture in her path. With the ease of practice, she eased the door 
open and stepped out onto the porch, settling noiselessly into a wicker rocking 
chair she'd bought at a garage sale the week before.

The night air was chilly but still. Cedar Heights was pretty quiet at midnight, 
and looking down the street she could see only a few lights still on, here and 
there. The climbing roses hid her from sight and she felt secretive, tucking one 
foot up under her thighs and wrapping her arms around herself. She sighed, her 
breath crystallizing in the air and quickly fading away. It was so quiet here, 
she thought with some amount of wonder, still, at her surroundings. Peaceful. 
She missed her mother and she missed her apartment -- somewhat -- but she missed 
little else from her life. And that was somewhat frightening.

"You've got to be cold."

She jumped, startled. "Jesus, Mulder. Don't sneak up on me like that."

"I didn't," he said, the screen door closing behind him. "I mean, I didn't mean 
to. What are you doing out here?"

"I'm just getting some air," she replied, annoyed.

She didn't look at him but out of the corner of her eye she could see him 
hesitate, then settle onto the porch steps, leaning back on his arms. She was 
above him now and at a quick glance she spotted only his thick dark hair as he 
gazed out onto the street, facing away from her. She noticed he was wearing a 
white t-shirt and sweatpants; it was quite the versatile uniform for him these 
days, she thought to herself waspishly. He wore basically the same outfit to 
work and varied it with jeans on the weekends or when they went out anywhere. 
She wondered if he missed his suits. She wondered if she missed them.

"You okay, Scully?" he asked softly, without turning.

"I'm fine."

"What's wrong?"

"Mulder, I just said--"

He cut her off. "I heard you. And I'm asking you what's wrong anyhow."

"I'm just tired," she said, shrugging him off.

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. "No, you're not. I know you 
'tired', Scully. I've had plenty of occasions to see you exhausted, worn down, 
sick. Far more often than I've liked, believe me. But I certainly know the 
signs. And you're not tired, not lately. So what is it?"

"Okay, I'm not tired," she countered. "You're right."

He turned to her then but she stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. "I just care, 
Scully. If something's wrong--"

"You know what, Mulder?" she said, standing, her eyes flashing with irritation 
as she met his look, finally, glaring. "I just wanted a little peace and quiet. 
Some time alone. Away from--"

"Away from me?"

Her mouth opened and she stopped suddenly, realizing that her next word was 
about to be "yes". She stood there uncertainly, wanting to look away from him, 
wanting to vent her anger, and yet not wanting to hurt him. Not sure if her 
answer would even be true.

He watched her as the moments ticked by and then sighed, lowering his head. 
"Scully, I... I have some things I want to say. Will you stay and listen?"

She nodded, reflexively. She couldn't turn him down, not ever, usually, and 
certainly not when he was asking her for something like this. She paused only a 
moment longer then sat back down in the wicker chair, perched there 
uncomfortably, waiting for him to begin.

"Ever look at a calendar and think about what you were doing a year ago, ten 
years ago?" he asked. "Or even a few months ago. Well, when I do that now, I 
sometimes feel like I'm looking back at another person's life."

She waited, knowing exactly what he was talking about. She'd done the same 
thing, flipping through photo albums or coming across old documents. She felt so 
disassociated from the woman who'd once enjoyed going to concerts and traveling 
to new places and spending hours on the phone talking to old friends. Surely 
that had been someone else, doing those things, knowing those people.

"Just a few months ago I was on the same path I'd been on my entire adult life," 
he continued, "searching for Samantha, determined to find the truth at all 
costs. It didn't matter if I didn't have a family or friends or hobbies. Those 
things were less important than finding her. Christ, it didn't really matter if 
you had those things either, and for that I am sorry."

He paused as if expecting her to interrupt but she didn't. It was, after all, 
nothing they hadn't said to each other before.

"And then it was over. I found what I was looking for and I was free. But at 
first I just kept going the way I always have, still pushing myself, still 
pushing you, still chasing every bit of information that came my way. It was 
habit by then. I didn't know much of anything else. All I had was you and the X-
files, and I couldn't imagine living without either. And I didn't have to.

"If they'd tried to take either one of you away from me, I would have fought 
tooth and nail. I would never have rested until I got back what belonged... 
until I stopped whoever it was," he stumbled a bit, at a loss for words, as if 
he didn't want to say as much as he'd planned but didn't know how else to 
express it.

She waited, mute and still.

"The thing is," he picked up again, "no one's taken anything from me. It's not 
like that. There's no enemy, no one to fight. I'm just here with you, doing my 
job, even though it doesn't feel like it. Even if there are times, well, entire 
days that I forget about it all, the men and their agendas and their 
conspiracies and their lies. I just think about the next class I'm teaching or 
what we're having for supper or how we need to start thinking about winterizing 
the windows on the house. About how easy it's been, to adjust, to let go of the 
rest." His face softened then, and he added, in a low voice that drifted over 
her like mist, "And I think about how much I like coming home every night, and 
finding you here."

When she didn't answer he looked away and seemed to sigh, but his voice 
contained no disappointment. "I know this is a small world we're living in right 
now. I know it's not real. I know your family isn't here, or our friends, such 
as they are. I know our lives are very different from this, somewhere else. And 
that's okay. That's not so bad. We have... I have a lot, in that life, to be 
thankful for. And I am. But here... I like it here, Scully. I feel content, for 
the first time in so long I hardly recognize it. I'm not thinking of what I've 
lost, or what I need to hold onto. I'm thinking about everything in my life 
that's good. Here. With you."

He stood abruptly and moved to the screen door, then paused. "I know you don't 
feel the same way, Scully," he added quietly. "And I'm sorry this isn't... I'm 
sorry I'm not what you want. But the truth is that you *are* what I want, and I 
can't lie about that. Not to myself, and not to you anymore. I hope you can 
understand why I had to tell you that," he said, and after a moment he turned to 
go.

"Wait," she said finally, one hand reaching out to grab his arm, her small 
fingers closing around him, clutching. "Just wait," she repeated, unsure of what 
to say, how to answer, how to respond. Just knowing that she had to react. Had 
to stop him from walking away.

He stood still, the arm she was clutching braced against the open screen door, 
gazing down at her, the light inadequate to reveal the murky depths of his hazel 
eyes as her mind raced, searching for the right words to say.

"Scully--"

"You're wrong," she told him, finally. "About me. You're wrong."

"I'm wrong?" he echoed softly, waiting... hopeful.

"Yes."

He turned towards her the tiniest bit and the door swung shut, slowly. They 
faced each other in the dark, her hand now resting on his upper arm.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"You are. You are... what I want."

He seemed to smile but it was too dark to tell for sure. His arms came up around 
her and she leaned into his warmth gratefully, her face pressed up against his 
chest. She could feel and hear his heart beating, strong and steady, her own 
hands reaching up to rest on his shoulders.

"Would you..." he began, and stopped.

"What?" she asked softly.

He took a deep breath and pulled back, looking down at her sweetly, pushing 
strands of her hair back from her face. "Would you go out with me tomorrow 
night, Mrs. Kennedy?"

"Okay," she said, her arms trailing away from him as she moved away, back into 
the house and out of the too-cold night air. He followed, pulling the door shut 
behind them. "Yes."


**************************

And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
(Talking Heads)


In the movie theater, he reached over and took her hand in his.

She forced herself to relax, to act as if it were the most natural thing in the 
world for them to be sitting here, waiting for the movie to begin, awkwardly 
silent, holding hands. It was natural, after all, she reminded herself, and she 
certainly wanted to hold his hand -- liked holding his hand -- and she didn't 
want to tense up and have him feel that. So she studiously ignored the 
strangeness of it all and let her hand rest in his. Then she started wondering 
if her hand was too limp, too clammy, too unresponsive. Too cold and unfeeling.

A small chuckle caused her to glance over at Mulder; sure enough he was 
grinning. "What?" she asked nervously.

"Relax. Just relax."

She blew out an exasperated sigh. Why was it so easy for him to say?

The lights dimmed, finally, and the previews began. As the theater darkened she 
tried to recall when last she'd gone to the show. Years, probably, and surely 
she'd been with her mother then. As a teenager she'd certainly spent a lot of 
time in movie theaters, in a group and sometimes on dates. Except then it wasn't 
always about watching the movie.

I wonder if kids still make out in movie theaters, she thought to herself. 
Surely the world can't have changed that much. Do adults make out in movie 
theaters, too? Get a grip, Dana, they have *sex* in movie theaters, you know 
that. Not from experience, but...

Resolutely, she forced herself to end that particular train of thought. With 
Mulder a few inches away, her hand nestled in his, and the lights down low, 
well, the last thing she needed was to think about illicit activities of any 
kind.

When the movie ended, Mulder stood, letting go of her hand, and stretched; the 
seats were comfortable for her but probably cramped for him. Speaking of 
cramped, her hand felt stiff and she stopped herself from shaking the life back 
into it. Honestly, she'd spent the second half of the movie trying to decide if 
and when it was bad form to let go of his hand. Was half the movie enough? 
Should she get up to use the ladies' room and disengage that way? Could she just 
take a break from the hand-holding, shift around a little and then go for it 
again? Why couldn't Mulder be an "arm around the shoulders" kind of guy instead? 
Less input and decision making on her part.

As the departing crowd thinned, she stood as well and they edged their way out 
to the lobby. Outside, the night air was chilly and they hurried to the car.

"That was..." Mulder trailed off uncertainly.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Huh."

"I know."

"It really was awful, wasn't it?" he asked, grimacing.

"Terrible," she agreed.

"I'm glad you thought so too," he confessed. "I mean, I'm sorry you didn't enjoy 
it, but seriously, Scully, if you'd liked that movie I might have had to re-
evaluate my worldview."

She smiled. "No cause for concern there."

"Well, good." Mulder steered the Jeep through parking lot traffic and pulled out 
into the road. "Hungry?"

"Sure. But I just went shopping, Mulder, we don't have to go out to dinner."

He gave her an odd look. "Don't you want to?"

"I do, I was just saying we don't *have* to, if you don't want to," she 
explained.

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

"No reason, I mean, you wouldn't. Let's stop somewhere, then," she said hastily. 
"Anywhere."

Again, he gave her the same odd look. "Scully, I made reservations at Cedar 
Heights' one and only fine Italian dining establishment. We're all set."

"You made reservations?" she asked, surprised.

"That's how it's generally done, you know," he told her, laughing at her tone. 
"I realize we're both out of practice and all, but really, Scully --"

"You're right, I know," she cut him off, forcing what she hoped appeared to be a 
lighthearted, casual grin. "I'm just teasing you."

"Okay."

She glanced down, anxious. "Am I dressed okay?"

Mulder's eyes left the road momentarily to sweep over her, quickly. "You look 
great, Scully."

"Thank you," she responded automatically. "But I meant, for the restaurant. The 
one you made reservations at." She was wearing a new cream-colored sweater and 
pants that the Eddie Bauer catalog had called, she believed, "caramel". Mulder 
himself was in slacks and a button-down oxford shirt. They looked nice in a 
middle-America kind of way, but not fancy.

He nodded, understanding. "Oh. Yes. I mean, this *is* Cedar Heights, you know."

She smiled vaguely. When they reached the restaurant she took a deep breath and 
tried to look unconcerned as he politely held the door for her.

The hostess seated them at a booth toward the back. She settled in as Mulder did 
the same and her nerves calmed. An ocean of table separated them, it seemed, and 
she could breathe again.

They ordered right away. All those years together on the road, eating in dive 
diners and sometimes nicer restaurants just for the heck of it, had made the act 
of dining out somewhat commonplace, she thought. She supposed they should linger 
over drinks first and maybe even have an appetizer, but frankly, she wasn't sure 
how to go about the whole process anymore.

Mulder ordered wine with dinner, though, which was new for them. Usually they 
were working, after all, on duty, on a case. She sipped at a glass of house 
white and started to regret it. The wine was making her warm.

"You okay?" Mulder asked.

"Sure," she replied, smiling. Actually, she'd been smiling most of the evening. 
Her face hurt.

"You're quiet."

"So are you."

He laughed. "That's certainly not something I hear from you very often. 'Mulder, 
you really should talk more.'"

"Don't you mean 'Jack'?" she shot back. "We might see someone we know here, 
after all."

His eyes twinkled and she felt a small amount of tension ease. "Well, now --"

"And here you are!" The waitress set plates of steaming food in front of each of 
them, beaming. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Scully shook her head and glanced at Mulder. He didn't say anything and the 
waitress turned to leave. "Wait," Scully called her back. "Jack, that's not what 
you ordered."

"It isn't?" he asked innocently.

"No, even if I wasn't sitting right here when you asked for the fettuccine, I'd 
stake my life that you didn't order the Portobello mushroom ravioli."

"You didn't?" the waitress asked, confused.

"Well -- " Mulder temporized.

"You don't like mushrooms."

"It's okay."

"I'm so sorry," the waitress interjected, mortified. "It's completely my 
mistake. I got your order confused with... Well, I'll take care of it. It'll 
just be a few minutes, I promise."

Scully sighed. "No, don't do that." This evening was awkward enough all on its 
own; she didn't want to wait another ten minutes while they scrambled something 
together in the kitchen. "We'll switch."

"No, I -- "

"I got manicotti, which you like. You ended up with the Portobello ravioli, 
which you hate, which I like. Just switch, and everyone's happy," Scully said 
decisively.

The waitress looked uncertain. "If you're sure..."

"I am," she replied.

"Again, I do apologize," the young woman responded gratefully, switching their 
plates. "And I appreciate your understanding. Your dinner will, of course, be on 
the house. We hope you come back to Carmine's soon."

Scully murmured a reply and the waitress left. Slicing one of the plump stuffed 
raviolis open, she lifted her fork to her mouth and stopped, seeing Mulder's 
bemused grin. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied, still grinning.

"Is this not okay with you? If you wanted to wait -- "

"No, no," he interrupted, and picked up his own fork. "This is fine. Thank you. 
I just -- you always figure everything out, no matter what gets thrown at you. 
You don't even blink."

She kept her eyes lowered, and took a sip of wine, uncomfortable. "It's no big 
deal. There were four kids in my family; you think that when we went out to eat 
they never messed up our order? My mother would just switch things around so 
that everyone was happy."

"I can still be impressed by you, can't I?" he asked in a low voice.

She glanced up at him then. His eyes were dark and hooded and his face soft; she 
felt herself blushing, her cheeks warm, and said nothing.

"Besides," he continued in a lighter tone, "This is the cheapest dinner date 
I've ever had the pleasure of taking someone on."


**************************

So I stretch myself across, like a bridge
And I pull you to the edge
And stand there waiting
Trying to attain
The end to satisfy the story
(Fiona Apple)


"Are you awake? We're home."

Scully turned away from the window. "I know. I wasn't sleeping. I never sleep in 
cars."

"Right."

She shrugged and reached for the door handle, heading straight for the house. I 
forgot to leave a light on, she thought to herself. That's what porch lights are 
for and I just can't get in the habit of remembering. Fumbling a bit in the 
dark, by the time she got the door open Mulder was right behind her, his much-
taller frame blocking hers in, shutting out the wind.

With the flick of a switch the house was bathed in light. She dropped her purse 
onto the end table and shrugged out of her jacket. Mulder was waiting by the 
coat closet and held out his hand. "Let me."

She stared at his outstretched palm, turned up towards her, waiting. The jacket 
lay limply in her hands, forgotten, as the wind rattled the windowpanes and the 
lights briefly flickered. She closed her eyes, slowly, letting the moments tick 
by... listening to the sounds the house made, the creaks and whispers, the hum 
of electricity barely noticeable underneath it all... and though it seemed like 
longer, only a moment had gone by when she opened her eyes again, and looked 
away.

"I can't do this, Mulder."

Somewhere in the house there was a clock ticking, and the steady, rhythmic 
clicking noises it made were suddenly all she could hear. She hated ticking 
clocks and avoided them whenever possible. Somehow this one had previously 
escaped her notice. Then again, this wasn't really her house and she hadn't been 
consulted about the furnishings.

He coughed, clearing his throat, but when he spoke his voice was still low and 
hoarse. "You can't... You don't want to?"

She shook her head, gazing out the window. "Not this. Mulder--"

"It's okay, Scully."

She turned, then, struck by the deadness of his voice, the lack of emotion that 
revealed so much. He was watching her with tired eyes and a face that betrayed 
no anger, no frustration. Just resignation. She moved toward him and began 
again. "No, it's--"

"It's okay. I think I knew that's what you would say. We didn't exactly make 
sparks fly this evening, and maybe you're right, we should take the hint and cut 
our losses," he said, without a trace of humor.

"No, that's not what I meant."

He stopped and looked at her, waiting. "Okay. What did you mean?"

She felt unsettled by the way he was looking at her: kindly, intensely, wanting 
to know her answer -- and yet, without any hope at all, without any sense of 
fire or spark.

Damn it, she'd screwed this up. She took a deep breath and moved even closer to 
him, until only a few inches separated them. "Mulder," she began, and paused, 
afraid she'd use the wrong words again, afraid she'd fail. She leaned in, 
resting her head on his chest, her arms tentatively reaching up to encircle his 
waist. "Mulder," she murmured again into his warm, strong chest.

Slowly, his arms came up around her, one resting on her hair, moving through it 
softly. He released a breath she hadn't known he was holding, dropping his chin 
to rest on top of her head. "It's okay, Scully. It'll always be okay."

She smiled at his impossible promise, and her heart swelled. Impossible man, she 
thought fondly. Her hesitancy dropped away and she leaned back, bringing her 
hands to cradle his face.

"What I'm saying is, I can't do *this*. I can't date you. It's too awkward. I 
can't go back and pretend we're two people getting to know each other, or two 
people who've never had dinner together before. I can't pretend, period. We've 
been pretending here for weeks and that's okay, that's our job. But between us, 
you and me? I can't."

He nodded. "I understand. But it's not all pretend, Scully. This is how I feel."

"I know. I'm not saying this right," she admitted, frustrated, resting her 
forehead against him once more, trying to come up with the words. Determined, 
she took a deep breath once more and finally spoke with all the surety that was 
in her heart. "I can't date you, Mulder, because I'm already in love with you. 
It feels like I've been in love with you for all of my life. I can't go back to 
the beginning now. I can't step back to the hand-holding stage. I'm in love with 
you, and we're either doing this or we're not. No in-betweens."

"Scully, pinch me. Or slap me or something."

She laughed, caught off guard. "What?"

"You just said you loved me three times. Three times. I would've sold my soul 
for once. I must be dreaming."

Scully smiled, slowly, an unfamiliar feeling of happiness welling up within her. 
"You're not dreaming. But I'll still pinch you if you really want me to."

He grinned. "Do I get to pick where?"

"Mulder--"

He stopped her words with his lips, swooping down on her in a wave, his arms 
tightening around her, crushing her to him. She felt herself still smiling, even 
as her lips welcomed him warmly and her hands slid through his hair, pulling his 
mouth more firmly down to hers.

He broke away breathlessly, leaning his forehead against hers. "God, I love you, 
Scully."

"I know."

"I thought we should take it slow," he said, then laughed. "Though seven years 
is enough to drive anyone crazy, I guess."

"Sometimes," she agreed, and captured his mouth with hers, loving the way he 
tasted as her tongue slid to meet his.

Moments or hours later his lips were hotly trailing down her neck, nibbling at 
her ear, leaving a warm tingly trail on her skin. She couldn't stop smiling, 
suddenly, and wanted nothing more than for this feeling to continue forever... 
until she noticed that Mulder was practically bent in two over her much smaller 
frame.

"Hey," she whispered, tugging at his shoulders to get his attention. "Maybe we 
should think about leaving the hallway behind."

"I kind of have a thing for hallways, haven't you noticed?" he murmured, still 
nuzzling her ear.

"I have," she whispered back, and laughed, twisting away. "Come on, Mulder," 
said, tugging him to the couch.

He snorted. "The couch?"

"Yes," she affirmed, pulling him down to her.

He climbed over her carefully, arranging pillows and seat cushions and elbows 
and knees. When his long body hovered over hers he paused, eyes skimming over 
her face, hands playing with her hair and spreading it out over the pillow. 
"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Really? Yes?"

"Yes."

He didn't smile, though she did, as he sank down and nestled his head against 
her breast. And she smiled as he began to slowly work one hand up beneath her 
sweater, tunneling through layers to trace tantalizing patterns against her 
skin. Surging up, he kissed her with a slow, deep sweetness, distracting her 
from all else, so that when his hand closed so warmly, so fully around her 
breast, she gasped into his mouth.

"Mmmm."

He chuckled. "Yes, indeed." They kissed again, and then he pulled away in mock 
frustration. "Mrs. Kennedy, you're way overdressed for this party."

"I could say the same for you," she agreed. It was so warm and snug and 
wonderful, she didn't want to move... then again, though, the thought of his 
bare skin gliding over hers was pretty appealing, too. Possibly worth the 
effort. Possibly? Definitely.

"We're pretty bad at this," he joked. When she shot him a look, he hastily 
amended, "The procedure, I mean. Following the steps in the right order."

"Well. Okay," she agreed, and then laughed. "Here's something I didn't think I'd 
have the opportunity to say out of the line of duty: Mulder, get off me."

"You sure about that?" he asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"I can barely move, much less pull this-- oh!" she exclaimed suddenly as he 
unexpectedly thrust with his hips, bringing what felt like a rather impressive 
erection directly in contact with the apex of her thighs. "Ohhhh..." she managed 
again, as what had been a growing warmth within her intensified to a burning 
heat.

He looked smug, she noticed, and with a wicked grin of her own she pushed at his 
shoulders, toppling him onto the floor.

"Ooof," Mulder grunted, his face registering amused surprise as he gazed up at 
her. "I gather you meant it."

"Clothes, Mulder. Off. Now."

He laughed, sitting up, and with a few yanked buttons his shirt was off. She 
quirked an eyebrow as he stood and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans, tugging them 
down. "Enjoying the show?" he asked.

She nodded, somewhat dazzled, and then yanked her own sweater up and over her 
head. Efficiently, lifting her hips slightly, she stripped off her slacks and 
panties and tossed them aside as well. Arching her back, she reached behind to 
unsnap her bra.

"Wait," Mulder said hoarsely. Startled, she glanced up at him. He had stripped 
down to his boxers and was standing above her, his eyes dark and deep. As she 
waited breathlessly his eyes left hers and trailed down the length of her body, 
slowly, slowly, then back up again. He tried to smile and failed; sinking to his 
knees on the carpet next to the couch, he stretched his arms around her hips and 
kissed her stomach.

She reminded herself to breathe as she wound her fingers through his thick dark 
hair... still the same as the day she met him, despite a few bad haircuts along 
the way. A wash of tenderness flooded over her and she sat up, curving her body 
over him almost protectively.

His grip on her tightened and he trailed a path of kisses up to her lace-encased 
breasts, nuzzling at the soft fabric. His breath was warm as he slid his mouth 
around her breasts, lightly, hands creeping up her back to the clasp.

"Let me," he said finally, and the hook came free. She shrugged her shoulders 
slightly to assist him as he slowly, reverently slipped the satin straps from 
her arms. Though the house was warm her breasts felt chilled once free to his 
gaze... chilled until he latched onto her left nipple with his generous mouth, 
his hand lightly kneading the other breast.

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, a soft hum building in her throat. 
Her hands were hopelessly entwined in his hair and soon she was tugging at him, 
pulling him up onto the couch, welcoming him back into the cradle of her thighs, 
relishing in his wonderful weight as it settled upon her.

Their eyes met and she smiled, burrowing her hands beneath the waistband of his 
boxers. "Off, Mulder. Now."

"Demanding, aren't you?" he asked, reaching down to assist her, making short 
work of the offending garment.

Her hands followed his, caressing his hips, and with a grin she slid them in 
between their bodies, finding his erection and running her fingers up and down 
the length of him.

He groaned, low, and leaned into her hand.

"Yes," she replied, watching his eyes close as she caressed him with increasing 
speed. "Now, Mulder."

He sighed, raggedly, almost a moan. "Yes." Just as her hands slipped away his 
sought her out, slipping between her warm folds. She hissed between her teeth 
when he found what he was looking for and stayed there, moving in hard, languid 
circles, driving her to distraction. As wonderful as it felt, she was beginning 
to ache for him so badly that it was a relief when his hands left her and he 
braced himself at her entrance, poised and fervent.

It had been a long time since she'd welcomed a man into her body, but she felt 
so warm and liquid and ready, she wrapped her legs around him as he surged, 
propping himself up on his elbows above her, his arms cradling her head. And 
when the hard, smooth heat of his cock slid into her, slowly, oh god so slowly, 
filling her bit by bit, more and more until she felt they were fusing into one 
person, she gasped, her breath hitching.

"Are you okay?" he asked, panting with the effort of holding still.

She nodded quickly and then met his eyes, so concerned. "God, yes, Mulder."

"You're so small... I would never do anything to hurt you, Scully."

"I know. You're not. Please..." She took a deep breath, her body adjusting to 
envelop him, the burning need within her aching to be satisfied. She kissed him, 
hard, her tongue clashing with his, a whimper escaping her throat. "Now," she 
whispered.

And then he was pulling back, plunging into her, all the way, filling her up as 
much as before. She lost track of time, space, everything as again and again he 
withdrew, nearly all the way out of her, only to drive forth once more, ever so 
slightly harder. His breath came in ragged pants and her own left her body with 
a small moan every time he entered her, pushing and driving her harder and 
harder, her hips tilting to meet him of their own accord.

She felt pinpricks beneath her eyes and clasped her legs around him tighter. 
"Mulder," she mumbled, aware of nothing in the world but his body, so familiar 
and loved, his heat, so welcome, and his slick, hot cock pumping into her so 
lovingly, so good... in a fleeting moment of clarity she registered some 
surprise, for with her previous lovers so long ago she'd almost never come in 
this position. But this was Mulder, her Mulder, and she'd loved and longed for 
him for so many years now. And just thinking that was enough to push her to the 
edge, her body alive and writhing beneath his -- just knowing it was him, that 
it was them, finally, so close... and then she was there, falling, hearing 
herself moan, her body clenching around his in a series of powerful waves. She 
clutched at him, shuddering, riding the crest of the emotions coursing through 
her, briefly intensifying in quick bursts as he continued to thrust into her.

As the world faded back into focus, she drew a deep breath and found him 
watching her, above her, still nestled inside her. Her face was flushed and she 
felt embarrassed under his gaze.

"Hi," he said softly, smiling.

"Hi," she returned, glancing away shyly. He cupped her face with his palm and 
met her lips with his own, taking his time. When they finally parted she was 
smiling back at him. "Feeling pretty good about yourself right now, aren't you?" 
she asked him, murmuring.

Without answering, he began to move within her again, and she urged him on with 
soft whispers and stroking hands. She felt the fire that had exploded within her 
spread and settle into every corner of her body, suffusing her with a feeling so 
strong she could barely contain it. Meeting him thrust for thrust, she felt his 
rhythm stagger and his body tense. As he surged one last time and spilled into 
her with a muffled cry, she clutched his shaking body to her, his weight 
pressing her deliciously into the couch.

"Love you so much," he muttered, nuzzling her neck, burrowing closer as lethargy 
overtook him.

"I know."

"Should get up... I'm too heavy," he added, curving his hand around her hip.

"Stay there," she told him. "You're right where I want you."

"Mmmm," he mumbled contentedly.

She smiled into his hair. Finally, right where they belonged.


**************************

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you
(Kathy's Song, Paul Simon)


"Come on, Mrs. Kennedy."

"Mmmm... who?"

"Fine, Mrs. Spooky, then. Let's go."

Her body felt much colder than it had a moment ago. Reluctantly, she opened her 
eyes, blinking and yawning, stretching her legs and pointing her toes.

"Are you doing that on purpose?" Mulder asked accusingly. He was standing next 
to the couch watching her, his eyes fixed on some point well below her face. She 
realized suddenly that she was naked and completely revealed to his gaze; she 
also realized that she rather liked the affect this seemed to have on him.

"What?" she asked innocently, arching her body in a stretch once more.

"That's it," he said, swiftly plucking her off the couch and carrying her 
unresisting body down the hall.

She laughed. "Where's the fire, Mulder?"

He angled her dangling feet carefully past the doorframe of her bedroom, 
dropping her onto the bed with a devilish grin.

"You're looking at it," he teased, pulling back the covers and tucking both of 
them underneath.

She yawned. "Uh huh. Why'd you wake me up? Something wrong with the couch?"

"I was falling off of it, that's all," he said, tucking an arm beneath her head 
and drawing her close, comfortably, so that her head rested on his chest.

"I didn't hear you complaining earlier."

"I had other things on my mind."

She smiled and ran her fingers idly over his stomach. "You know -- "

"Scully, I thought you were tired," he whined petulantly. "I mean, if we're 
going to be awake at..." he paused to glance at the alarm clock, "two AM, I can 
think of better things to do than just talk."

"Of course you can," she replied lazily. "But this is my bed, and my rules."

He snorted. "What if we were in my bed?"

"It'd still be my rules."

He sighed in mock resignation. "I give up. Okay, what were you going to say?"

"I was going to tell you that if you still wanted to get a kitten, it's fine 
with me."

Silence greeted her offer for a few moments. She wondered if he would attack the 
deeper implications of what she was saying, and wondered what her response would 
be.

He didn't disappoint. "It's fine with you as in, Mulder, you're so amazing in 
bed that I'm willing to give in to your every whim, even though I hate baby 
cats? Or is it..." his teasing voice trailed off for a moment, softening. "Is 
it, Mulder, let's get a cat together."

"Definitely the latter," she responded, smiling.

"Well, that question was sort of a win-win situation for me, wasn't it?" he 
joked, trailing his fingers up and down her arm. When his hand idly wandered 
over to her breast and began lazily caressing her there, she murmured 
contentedly in response. "I thought you didn't like cats," he added.

"No, I love them," she said.

He chuckled, surprised. "I can't believe I never knew that about you."

She smiled archly and, turning her head slightly, sucked lightly on his nipple. 
"I like to keep you guessing."

"Mrmpf," he returned, his response smothered as she pulled his head down to her 
and covered his lips with a short but satisfyingly sweet kiss. When they parted 
she remained draped across him, her chin propped up on his chest, eyes locked on 
his contentedly. "Seriously, Scully, why don't you have a cat, then? Why haven't 
you had one, all the time I've known you?"

"Well," she began uncertainly. "I had a cat. When I was a teenager, and then 
into my twenties. Allie. She was wonderful. We grew up together; she even went 
away to college with me. And, oh, she was finicky and didn't like to be picked 
up, and she didn't warm up to new people very quickly. She loathed other cats, 
too. But she was this constant companion in my life, and she loved me, and I was 
crazy about her." She paused, then resolutely went on. "And then, one day, she 
died. Not painfully or horribly; she was pretty healthy all her life. She just 
got old, and died in her sleep. And it was so hard, you know, losing her. I felt 
so bereft. I couldn't stand the idea of replacing her... so I never did."

She needn't have feared his reaction, she knew; he was, as always, completely in 
tune with her emotions and every bit as understanding as she could have asked. 
"I know you're still glad you had her in your life all those years, despite the 
eventual pain of losing her."

She nodded. "Of course. I guess at the time I thought I'd get another cat some 
day, when the very thought of doing so didn't make me sad. But the truth is that 
I stopped thinking about doing it altogether instead. That was easier."

"Well, we absolutely don't have to get a kitten if you don't want to, Scully," 
he told her reassuringly, rubbing her back. "I understand, and I don't want to 
do anything that would make you sad."

"I don't think it would, now. This would be different. Allie was my cat, there 
was something special about it being just the two of us, me and her. This kitten 
would, well," she stumbled, feeling slightly silly, "it would belong to both of 
us."

He smiled, sensing her awkwardness. "And that's the plan, then?"

"What?" she asked, unsure.

"That there is a both of us? Always? Not just here in Cedar Heights?"

The sweetest thing, she thought, was that he wasn't asking because he was unsure 
himself, or because he needed reassurance. Her partner, the most strong-willed, 
bold, fearless man she knew. No, he knew what he wanted and he knew that she 
loved him. He was just so kind, and considerate, and careful of her; so eager to 
make sure that she was with him, every step of the way, in sync, as always. And 
she was.

"Yes," she replied, and he smiled.

"Scully, I had no idea you were such a pushover," he teased, hands roving over 
her body in a greedy fashion, eagerly shifting her hips down over his growing 
erection. "Don't you ever say no to anything?"


**************************

I'm sitting in the railway station,
got a ticket to my destination.
(Paul Simon)


"Mulder, I think I hear a phone ringing," Scully mumbled, burying her head in 
the pillow.

No response.

Wearily, she dragged her eyes open and eyed the telephone balefully. It was, 
unmistakably, ringing.

"Mulder," she said louder, shaking his shoulder. "The phone, Mulder, the phone. 
Stop that noise."

"Huh?" he muttered blearily.

"Answer the phone."

He sat up, reflexively reaching for the source of the offending noise. "Why 
can't you?"

"Your side of the bed," she answered, blissfully snuggling back into her warm 
cocoon of covers.

"Okay... Hello? Oh. Sir. Yes."

She didn't open her eyes but stayed awake to listen; they'd just spoken to 
Skinner, so another call so quickly must mean news.

There was silence on Mulder's end for a few moments as he listened carefully. 
"Really," he said finally. "Great news, Sir. Oh? Agent Carson's okay, though, 
right? Good. Okay." Another silence, longer this time. "Agent Scully will be 
glad to hear that, Sir. She's been wanting to talk to her mother. Yes, right 
away." Short pause. "Okay. Well, we'll start getting things together. Tomorrow? 
No, that's okay. Really. Yes, sir, we understand. Thanks."

By the time Mulder hung up, she was wide awake and sitting up. He replaced the 
phone in its cradle and looked at her, smiling.

"Tell me," she said.

"It's over," he told her. "They got Faridian an hour ago. And his top guys, too. 
I guess there was a whole elaborate set-up, Skinner said he'd make sure we got a 
copy of the report. You know Deborah Carson?"

"Sure, the nice one, blonde hair, pixie cut?"

He shrugged, smiling. "I don't remember her hair, but yeah, you know who I mean. 
Anyhow, she was at the center of it and she's the one who pulled it off. She got 
a little banged up in the scuffle, Skinner says, but she's okay."

"I hope so," Scully said fervently. "Deb has a three year-old little girl at 
home."

Mulder nodded. "You're right, I'd forgotten about that."

"So..." she prompted him.

"So, it's over. You can call your mother in the Philippines. Skinner's talked to 
her several times, of course, and she knows you've been safe. But we both 
figured you'd want to talk to her yourself as soon as possible."

"Thanks." She did want to talk to her mother, especially about Mulder... but 
there was plenty of time for that, later. "When's the crew coming with the 
moving van?"

"That's the only thing, Skinner says they're swamped right now. It'll be 
tomorrow. I guess if we want we could just grab the essentials and drive out of 
here ourselves..."

She shook her head. "That's not necessary. I need to pack my own clothes and 
make sure I've got everything. And, you know," she continued somewhat awkwardly, 
"there are a few people I'd like to say good-bye to."

He nodded, gazing at her thoughtfully, stroking her arm comfortingly. Lacing 
their fingers together, he gave her hand a squeeze. "Megan?"

"Yeah, and some of the other women at work. They've been, well, nice."

"What do you want to tell them?"

She knew what he meant. "I know. On one hand, I want to finally be honest with 
them. It hasn't felt great, lying to them all this time. On the other hand..."

"It's a lot to explain," Mulder finished for her. "I know. It's probably best if 
we don't."

Reluctantly, she agreed. There would be no looking back, no full disclosure, no 
attempt to keep these people in her life. They just didn't fit into her reality. 
Ellen Kennedy was best forgotten, and with her the life she'd led. "So we'll 
say, what, something positive?"

"Yeah. Um, won the lottery? Running away to Fiji?" he teased, but she didn't 
smile. "Okay. We'll say we just miss our family, want to move back home. Say I 
got a great job offer, or something, nothing against Cedar Heights High."

"Sounds good."

He watched her carefully, and the smile in his eyes made her blush, it was so 
loving and intense. She leaned over to kiss him lightly, then slid down to curl 
up against him.

"So tomorrow, we go home," she said, her tone betrayingly wistful.

"Will you get mad if I say it?" he asked.

"No," she sighed.

"Part of you doesn't want to leave." She didn't argue; she couldn't. "Part of me 
doesn't want to leave, either, Scully," he hastily amended.

She eyed him doubtfully.

"I mean it," he said. "I like it here, Scully. The people are nice, the town's 
kind of fun. The kids I teach are great. Being here, it's like a fresh start, 
leaving all the mistakes and the pain behind."

"It is," she agreed somewhat wistfully. "I guess that's what's been so strange 
all this time, Mulder. I haven't felt like I was pretending, really. Just like 
we were somewhere new, somewhere nicer. Better."

"Right."

She remained surprised at his attitude, though she'd suspected it. "I just can't 
believe you haven't been restless."

He paused for a moment before answering her. "For the first time in my life, I'm 
not. It's like I said to you: I'm finally free. The possibilities are endless. I 
just didn't know how appealing this possibility would be until I'd tried it." He 
kissed the top of her head sweetly. "And then, there's you."

"There's always me, Mulder. 'Whither thou goest, I will go'."

"'Wherever thou lodgest, I will lodge,'" Mulder finished for her. "You know Ruth 
said that to Naomi, the mother of her dead husband."

She swatted him half-heartedly. "Don't be so pedantic. How often do I make 
romantic declarations? Enjoy it when you can."

"I plan to," he told her, seriously.

She smiled lazily and her eyes drifted closed. She was lost somewhere in a 
daydream when he coughed uneasily. "What?"

"Do you mean it, Scully?" he asked softly.

She propped herself up on an elbow to look at him. "Of course I do." She 
couldn't read the strange expression on his face, half nervous, half wary.

"I wonder how long it would have taken us to get to this point, if we hadn't 
been sent undercover," he said finally. "How long we would've kept dancing 
around each other, avoiding the obvious."

She smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I think we would've hit breaking point pretty 
soon. At least I would have."

"Are you saying you couldn't have resisted me much longer?" he teased.

"Something like that, yes."

He sighed happily. "Me either. Still, this sped things up a bit, don't you 
think?"

"One could say it's about time something did," he replied ruefully. "Seven years 
was quite long enough."

"Oh, I agree. But we got a break, here. A once in a lifetime opportunity. And 
now that it's over, and we're going back, I don't really mind. Because as much 
as I liked Cedar Heights itself, what I really liked was being here with you. 
Living here with you. You're what counts, not the location."

She nodded. "Exactly."

"So, Scully, you want to get married? For real this time?"

She froze.

"Your mouth is hanging open. It's cute, but -- "

"Are you kidding around?"

"Nope."

"Because that wouldn't really be all that funny."

"Never been more serious in my life."

She narrowed her eyes at him critically. Despite the light, bantering tone, he 
*was* serious. Dear God.

He took a deep breath. "It's okay. You don't have to answer. I just -- "

"What, are you taking it back now?" she challenged him.

He laughed uneasily. "No, absolutely not. I just... Maybe this wasn't the best 
time to ask, you know, in bed. Naked. Obviously. In retrospect, a nice candlelit 
dinner would've been classier. Not to mention with a ring on hand."

"So why are you asking now?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Well, it just came out. I want to marry you, that 
I'm sure of. I planned on finding out, sooner or later, if you wanted to marry 
me. Curiosity got the better of me, so I asked sooner rather than later."

"Curiosity?"

"Well, not *idle* curiosity," he clarified. "Actually, burning need-to-know 
curiosity."

"Oh. Well, that's okay, then." She paused, then thought of something he'd said. 
"You planned on finding out? How long have you planned such a thing?"

"Maybe six, seven years."

She gave him a stern look. "Be serious."

"I am." She didn't relent. "Oh, I don't know. Awhile. For some time."

"Must not have been really burning curiosity, then," she mused.

"I wouldn't say I wasn't burning, personally."

"What about work?" she asked suddenly.

"What about it? I have a feeling Skinman'll spring us some vacation time for a 
honeymoon."

"That's not what I meant."

"I realize that. Honestly, Scully, I don't think anyone's going to be all that 
shocked at the idea that we've hooked up."

"I want to get married by a priest. In a church."

"Sure, sure, a priest, a nun, a monk, I don't care. I'll sign off on anything 
you and the Pope want me to," he agreed amicably. "Or won't they let you do that 
in this modern day and age? Marry out of the flock? They don't expect me to 
convert, do they"

"No, I just have to get permission. From the bishop, I think, but since my 
mother is so active in the church I hardly think it'll be a problem," she 
explained thoughtfully. "So that's okay."

"That's okay?"

"I have to tell you something that'll surprise you," she told him.

"Scully, now is not the time to tell me you've had a sex change."

"I wouldn't want to keep my last name."

"Really?" he asked. "Yeah, okay, I'm surprised. Why? I mean, sure, yeah, fine 
with me, but I just assumed -- "

"I don't know, I just don't. I'm 'Scully' enough already, don't you think? Does 
that make sense?"

"No, but hey, I'll go with it."

"You can still call me 'Scully', though," she told him. "It's not like we could 
both call each other 'Mulder'."

"Of course not."

They were silent suddenly, and her mind was racing with details and plans and 
possibilities and thoughts. Small, yes, soon, yes, quiet, yes, tasteful...

"Um, hey, Scully?" Mulder's voice brought her back to the present. She was 
propped up, drumming her fingers on his chest, arranged across his body 
unconsciously, hardly noticing her surroundings.

"What?" she asked finally.

"You, um, well... you haven't..."

"What?" she asked again, more forcefully.

"Don't you think you could say it?" he asked fretfully. "I mean, just for my 
sake."

She couldn't see what he was getting at. "Say what?"

"You know."

"Oh."

"That's what I'm getting at."

"I get it."

"I thought you would."

"Sure," she agreed. "I can do that."

"Great. Thanks."

"No problem."

"Okay." He waited, and she wanted to laugh out loud at how hard he was trying 
not to get exasperated. "Scully, come on -- "

"Yes, I'll marry you, Mulder," she told him, surging up and breathing the words 
into his mouth. Her lips met his joyfully, gladly, and her heart reached out to 
meet his, grabbing on to what they'd been so lucky to find. "Yes."


**************************

END


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