Title:  Strange Currencies
Author: Lilith
Category:  S, R, A
Keywords:  MSR
Rating:	NC-17
Archiving: I'd be honored, I'm sure. Simply drop me a line.
Feedback:  Please.   ladylilith@geocities.com
Summary:  Three years ago, Scully made a deal that kept Mulder 
	alive,  but separated them.  Now, the terms of her contract 
	seem to be  changing, affecting both their lives and bringing 
	Mulder and  Scully together again.


Disclaimer:  I don't own them.   But they are such fun.  I intend no 
infringement on the rights of FOX, 1013, Chris Carter, or anyone else 
owning any part of these characters.  Clara and Roberta are mine all 
mine though.  As always, notes and acknowledgments are at the end.
No Foxes were harmed in the making of this story.  My apologies and 
thanks to the Classics IV and REM.

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




	He settled next to her on the porch swing and rolled the 
cigarette between his fingers.  He wouldn't smoke in her presence.  
He knew it bothered her.  There weren't many things he could do 
for her anymore, so every little gesture counted.
	She sighed as the swing rocked back.   "This wasn't 
supposed to happen to me.  I wasn't supposed to grow old alone 
like this."
	"He doesn't visit much?"
	She shook her head.  "He can't come back until he comes 
to see her.  I know that, and you know that."
	"Yes."
	She winced and gave a small bitter laugh.  "It wasn't until 
he left that I realized I haven't given him much reason to stay."
	"You did what was necessary," he replied steadily.
	She shook her head.  "What an empty statement.  Has that 
palliative ever helped you sleep at night?"  She pulled her coat 
closer around her shoulders.  "I spent so much of his life hating 
him for what he couldn't help being."
	"You couldn't help it either."
	She shook her head again.  "No, I could have been a good 
mother to him.  I could have wanted him to be happy.  He was so 
devoted to me, you know."
	"I know."
	"I do want him to be happy, you know.  I don't think that 
will ever happen though."
	"Why not?"
	The swing has lost momentum.  She pushes her foot against 
the porch floor.  Breeze lifts the thin white hairs around her face, 
her frown.  "He always did have too much in common with his 
father.  Can't leave a woman alone once she gets under his skin.  
Becomes his whole life."
	The cigarette snaps in half between his fingers.  
	"The day before his left, he came to see me.  I asked him 
why.  For a moment, he looked twelve years old again.  Trying so 
hard not to cry.  They took her instead of me."
	"I beg your pardon?"
	"That's what he said.  They took her instead of me.  
Something tells me you need them, and you only need to control 
one of them to have the other, eventually.   And you always were a 
man of infinite patience.  You made him an offer, and his refusal 
demanded her acceptance.  Isn't what how it works?  Or have I 
forgotten?"
	"I thought you'd repressed all that."
	"I remember every damn thing."
	The loose tobacco skitters across the wood in the wind.


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









6:26 p.m. Thursday

	My feet never used to hurt so much.  Once I could chase 
down suspects and keep up with other officers in three inch heels 
and never feel it.   Now, after making rounds for eight hours in my 
conservative pumps, my feet are throbbing, my head is pounding, 
my hands are shaking, and my eyes can't quite focus on the traffic 
flowing around me.
	Finally, my apartment complex appears on the horizon.  My 
car pulls into the slot designated for apartment 17A.  For a moment 
I let the car idle, pondering what it would be like to turn around 
and just drive.  Drive to New Mexico or Vancouver or even 
Florida. 
	I drop down on my couch and look out my window.  It 
looks across an alley into another window, of someone I've never 
met.  Someone who makes no difference in my life.  Or someone 
who's still tracking me, keeping tabs on me, after all these years of 
obedience.
	All these years.
	You'd think, after all these years, that the pain would have 
dulled.  Instead, it's the only thing that hasn't dulled.  Anger, sex, 
affection, even taste have dimmed since then.  If my feet didn't 
hurt so much, I'd almost say I don't feel anything anymore.
	The mirror stares back at me.  Who is this woman with 
long grey-laced red hair in a conservative chignon, perfect 
makeup, dull clothes, and sensible shoes?  The tag on her lapel 
says `Doctor Katherine Scully,' which tells me less than nothing.   
When did her hair go grey?  When did the lines around her mouth 
form?  Where did the years go?  Three years.
	Three very long years.  I've aged ten since he left.
	I wonder if he'd like my hair long like this.  No, I don't 
wonder.  I know.  He would have loved it.  He would have found a 
thousand little excuses to touch it, to push his fingers through it.  
He would know how to use it as more than a lever to pull when he 
wanted me to pump my hips. 
	Three years.  And counting.
	"Kathy?"
	My fingernails screech along the glass.
	"I didn't know you were here, Ed."
	He shrugs and puts a hand on my shoulder.  "I just wanted 
to say hi and get that book you said I left, oh and the key you gave 
me in case of emergencies."
	I nod and struggle not to shrug his hand off me.  "Oh, okay.  
It's in that plastic bag on the table.  Um, how are you?"
	He forces a smile.  The strain is more visible than the 
expression itself.  "I'm good, Kathy.  And you?"
	I suck back a sigh.  "Oh, I'm fine."
	He drops a kiss on my forehead.  "Look, I'll give you a call 
sometime, okay?  We'll get dinner or something.  At that Mexican 
place you like."
	It's my turn to force a smile.  "Sure Ed, that would be..." 
god-awful, worse than a lobotomy, more exciting than our sex life, 
"nice."
	I close the door after him, fingering the key he handed me.  
I call my super and ask him to have my locks changed.  Tomorrow.  
Suddenly, I feel sick.  For the third time in the last four months, I 
check the apartment compulsively for the slightest sign that Ed 
was ever here.  
	That's when I find it, under the lamp that I knocked over in 
haste.   Tiny, they are always so tiny and discrete.  I pick up the little 
surveillance device and gently place it delicately on my kitchen 
counter.  For a moment, I am tempted to introduce it to my blender, 
but I have better ideas.  The boys will love this.   It's a new one, at 
least it's not like any bug I've ever seen.  That was part of the deal too, 
no surveillance, but I knew better than to believe They'd keep that 
promise.
	The boys.  At first, I was surprised that the Gunmen were 
so loyal to me afterward, considering.  I think they understood 
what I did, and why I did it, maybe more than he ever could.
	Strange jubilation and wracking anxiety grip me.   The 
Gunmen were just here last month, and just like the last five times, 
they found no evidence that I was being watched.  This can mean 
only one thing.  They are expecting something to change.   They 
foresee my life becoming more interesting in the near future.
	He's coming back.



6:24 p.m., Thursday , two weeks later

	  God, she's still so beautiful.  Even with the few strands of 
grey and the horrible clothes.  She stumbles tiredly from the car 
and reaches into the back seat to grab her briefcase.
	"Scully?"
	The door slams behind her as she flattens herself against 
the car.  Her hand creeps toward her spine, as though her holster is 
still there.   She looks utterly terrified.
	Of course she does.  I practically put her in the hospital the 
last time I saw her.  Could I be a bigger asshole?  Then she smiles.
	God, she still has the same smile.  The same incredible 
smile that makes me feel for a moment like I'm her  own private 
satellite.  "Hi, Mulder."
	"Hey Scully."
	"You startled me."
	"Sorry, I was waiting for you."
	"I didn't know you were in town.  What's the occasion?"
	Of course, we've chosen to stay in the land of make 
believe.  To pretend we're just two old friends meeting again by 
chance.  Oh it's lovely to see you?  Let's have dinner.  See you 
next decade.   No, Scully.  It's not that easy, and you know it, but 
you also know there is no point in discussing it in the parking 
garage.  You always were wiser than me.
	I grin at her.  "I just got in Scully.  I guess you're the 
occasion."
	We move closer to each other, but still don't touch.  The 
closer I get, the more her smile gives way to tension.  "Can I come 
in, Scully?"
	"Of course," she whispers.  Her hands are shaking as she 
pushes the button on the elevator.  I want to touch her, but the way 
she is standing at just arm's length stops me.  I wonder if she still 
sees me in her mind's eye the way I see her in our last moment 
together.  My arms wrapped around her shoulders, literally trying 
to shake sense into her and then tossing her onto the couch and 
storming out.
	Could I blame her for not taking my phone calls after that?
	Then she quit the bureau.  And I never answered the 
message on my machine, because I knew it was decided for good.  
And I was so damn angry with her.   Sometimes, I still am.
	She unlocks her apartment door and flops gracelessly onto 
the couch.  Hesitantly, I take a seat beside her.   With a silent 
groan, she toes off her shoes.  For some reason the sight of her feet 
undoes me.   Scully always had such perfect feet, even with the 
preposterous shoes and pursuits and running in socks in the 
Antarctic.    Now, they look tired.  She looks tired.  Suddenly, I 
feel every day of the past three years close in on me.
	Her hand is on my shoulder as soon as my head ducks.  
"Don't," she orders in a quietly fierce voice.  "Don't cry, Mulder.  
I think I can take anything else, but don't do that to me."
	"Jesus, Scully," I breath out, forcing myself to obey her.  
Her body resists instinctually, but only for a moment, as I pull her 
to me and bury my face in her abundant hair.  "I've missed you."
	She doesn't say anything, just lifts her head and burrows it 
into my shoulder.  "I'm sorry," I add.
	She still doesn't say anything.  Instead she slips out of my 
grasp and heads toward the back of the apartment.  "What sort of 
weather should I be packing for?" she asks.
	I stand in the doorway of her bedroom, utterly 
flabbergasted.  She notes this with a grin.  "Mulder" she chuckles.
	"Um, spring in Colorado," I blurt.  "How did you..."
	She shrugs and throws open her old suitcase.  "Mulder, 
after three years of silence, you show up in person to apologize?  
You need something."
	Scully knows me too well.  I approach her slowly, so as not 
to startle her and carefully wrap my hands around her shoulders.  
She stiffens in response for a moment, then stares back at me.  
"No, I want something." 
	Her eyebrow arches, but her hands are on my waist now.  
"Scully, I knew a long time ago that if something like this ever 
happened, you should be involved.  No matter how far removed 
this is from my ideal vision, I still want you there."
	"Are you going to tell me what it is?"
	I shake my head.  I'm going to have enough explaining to 
do after the fact.  No point trying without the visual aids.  "Not yet, 
Scully.  It's a surprise."
	"Mulder," she begins to protest, "you know how much I h-"  
I place one finger over her lips and she stops.  My finger lingers 
there, then begins to trace the line of her lips.  "I've missed you 
too," she admits, her breath wafting over my skin.
	My other hand stretches up to touch her hair.  My hands dig 
into it, forcing it free from it's bobby pins until it floats against her 
back.  Scully's eyes close and she leans back into the sensation as I 
massage her scalp. 
	"Oh Scully," I breath involuntarily.
	Her eyes open in that solemn pout, her hands coming to 
rest on my biceps.  I can still hear her words from the last time we 
were in this position, before I went ballistic. `Dammit, Mulder.   I 
can't just let you die!  Your life is not the only one I'm saving this 
way, Mulder.  And I love you too much to let you die for nothing.  
Not when I can save you.   I'm not selling my soul here, Mulder,  
I'm buying it back.'  
	I'd waited six years to hear her say that and instead of 
falling to my knees in awe like I should have, I hurt her.  We trade in 
strange currencies in my world.   Children for silence, souls for cures, 
identities for lives, lives for security.  Not this time.  This time I have 
to 
make it better.  Please, let her not beat the crap out of me.
	I look at her face as I lean forward and realize this is not 
the time.  There's still an inkling of fear there.  I can't do this.  So 
instead, I drop my face into her shoulder and wrap my arms around 
her tightly.  Scully returns the gesture and turns her head to place a 
brief kiss on my cheek.  I rock against her involuntarily at the 
sensation of that simple gesture.  She laughs under her breath and 
repeats the caress before gently disengaging herself from my grasp.
	There it is, the almost smile.  This is utterly my Scully 
again, not the strange, worn out woman in the parking lot.  
"Mulder, whatever your reason is, you don't have to convince me."
	She turns her back suddenly, squaring her shoulders.  This 
is my Scully too.  "I'm just crazy, or bored, or stupid enough to 
pack up my bag and follow you again."
	"Or maybe...."  Maybe you still love me, even though I'm a 
hopeless dolt who's not the least bit worthy of you?
	That's what her eyes tell me, or maybe I am seeing what I 
want to see.   She shrugs.  "Or maybe I've missed that too," she 
admits, pulling a few shirts from the back of her closet.  "Spring 
time in Colorado."



9:47pm Mountain Time  Thursday

	Mulder's car passes a semi and rolls under another in a 
long chain of green signs.   We've been driving for an hour now, 
into suburbia.   Through the taxi ride, the plane ride, and now this 
ride, he still hasn't told me why I'm here.   Why he wants me here.
	Wants me.  Here.   Not `needs', wants.  The difference 
between the two is infinite.
	"They, uh, they told me about Ed, you know," he blurts 
suddenly.  
	I glance over at him.  I hadn't really thought about it, but 
yes, I suppose I did know they would tell him.  "I know."
	He nods absently, as though my input was unimportant.  He 
taps his fingers against the steering wheel and gnaws at his bottom 
lip.  Shit.  He's about to say something that's going to upset me, 
and he knows it.  
	"But, I... I doubt that they told you about Julia."
	He throws a glance at me and turns back to the road.  Why 
is he so nervous about this?  Yes, my stomach is crawling, but if he 
could stand knowing about Ed, I can stand knowing about Julia.  
	"She, uh, she was a school teacher," he adds.
	"Fascinating," I reply, wishing he'd come to the point.  The 
last thing I need to hear is his sonnet to Julia.
	He manages to almost smile.  "Well, she wasn't always a 
school teacher.  She used to work for Roush."  Ah ha.  Now this 
conversation is starting to make some sense.
	"When did you find that out?"
	"We'd been seeing each other for a couple of months, I got 
plowed one night and started talking about the two of you..."
	"The two of us?"
	"You and Samantha," he elaborates.  "She asked me 
...something inappropriate,"  he punctuates this with a look that 
begs me not to inquire,  "and that was the end of the relationship.  
And I got curious.  Had the boys look her up."
	That must have been some question, but I respect his 
wishes.  He's silent again for a long time.  Long enough to finally 
choose an exit.  "Mulder, why are you telling me this?"  I ask 
finally, my curiosity overtaking my patience.
	"Um..."  He looks at me and back out the window.  "It's 
not completely over."
	What??  "What aren't you telling me Mulder?"
	He looks at me again, then turns down a side street.  "She 
was born seven months ago.  I didn't even know until about two 
weeks ago.  Julia wanted to put her up for adoption, but I got legal 
custody."
	The car has stopped moving.  Or maybe I'm just stuck on 
the road a few miles back, trying to catch up with what he just 
said.  Mulder is walking around the car to open the door for me.  
He gently tugs me into a standing position and wraps one arm 
around me.
	"Scully?"
	"You...you have a daughter."
	His hand moves down my shoulder slowly.  "I always....  
Scully, a very long time ago I decided that the first time I held my 
child in my arms, you would be there."
	I huff a laugh.  It's the only response I can muster at the 
moment.  "This wasn't quite the role I had planned, for either of 
us, Scully."
	He places his hand gently over my heart.  I hope he can't 
see that I am about to cry.  "Maybe I shouldn't have..."
	Obviously, he can.  I sniff and cover his hand with mine.  
"No.  I'm glad you did."
	"So, that's her, huh Will?"
	I jump and turn.  Mulder reassuringly places his hand on 
my waist.  "Scully, this is Julia.  Julia, Scully."
	Despite the twilight,  despite the tired lines around her 
mouth and eyes, despite the messy state of her dark red hair, I can 
tell that she's beautiful.  She looks away and shoves a carseat at 
Mulder.  
	"Scully, let Will do that.  You can help me with the baby's 
things."  I stand in the doorway and take the two shoulder bags and 
one large cardboard box.  "That's everything but the furniture," 
she informs me.
	She follows me out to the car.  As Mulder packs the trunk, 
Julia hands me the soft bundle.  The baby fidgets slightly in my 
arms.  Julia runs her fingers over the baby's face and smiles.  
"When he picks a name, tell the doctors.  She's still `baby girl' on 
her birth certificate."
	"Thank you," I reply, knowing that anything I say is 
inadequate to the occasion.
	"Don't thank me," she retorts.  "I know you'll take good 
care of her."  She then shocks the hell out of me by reaching up 
and running her fingers over my face in exactly the same fashion 
as she did the baby's.  Before I can recover, she is making a bee-
line for her front door.
	Cautiously, I loosen the blanket around her face.  Thin 
reddish hair and gold-rimmed eyes.  She blinks at me, then 
burrows closer to me, gripping my shirt in a tight little fist.  I rock 
her slowly, coaxing her back to sleep, a little curious as to why she 
isn't screaming her head off the way my nephews do when their 
mothers hand them off to me. 
	"Hey Clara," Mulder whispers over my shoulder, startling 
me. "Daddy and .... Scully are going to take you home now."
	"Clara?"
	"Do you like it?"
	"It's beautiful.  She's beautiful.  Do you want to hold her, 
Mulder?"  I ask, surprised that he hasn't asked to yet.
	He drops a kiss on her cheek and opens the back door for 
me instead.  "No, wait until we get home.  If I take her now I won't 
want to let go of her."
	I smile and strap her in.  "Okay, Mulder, let's go home."


	Home.   A nice house with three bedrooms and a study.  
One bedroom converted into an incredibly lavish nursery.  Scully 
settled Clara heavily into the oak crib, and covered her with the 
crochet blanket hanging over the side.  Scully seemed impressed 
with the house.  Now she's passed out on my bed, in her rumpled 
suit and a furrowed forehead.  At least she took off those shoes 
again.  First thing tomorrow, I'm buying her a pair of moccasins.
	I kick off my own shoes and collapse on the bed next to 
her.
	"Mulder, I called the hospital and told them I had a family 
emergency, but I'll have to be back at work Monday."
	I sit up and loom over her.  She blinks up at me.  "I was 
hoping you could stay longer, Scully."
	She rubs her eyes.  "How much longer?"
	"Thirty-five, forty years?"
	She stretches and sits up slowly.  "Mulder, my job.... it's 
more than a job."
	"Roush has a factory here too, you know.   How hard would 
it be to get transferred to Mercy Boulder?  There's plenty of room 
for you here."
	She sighs deeply and pulls her legs under her body.  
"Mulder, you haven't spoken to me in three years.  Suddenly, I'm 
supposed to rearrange my whole life for your convenience?"
	I must be gaping at her.  "You've done it before," I blurt 
like a total idiot.
	"Oh Christ, Mulder," she grumbles.  She tumbles off the 
bed and stuffs her feet in those shoes, god dammit.  On her way 
out the door, she snatches her shoulder bag off the dresser.   I feel 
like I'm in slow motion behind her.
	"Scully.....Scully, that's not what I meant."
	She waves her hand at me in a dismissive gesture.  
	I rip the bag out of her hand and she reels back, anger 
practically radiating from her.  "Look, I know this isn't what you 
wanted, what you pictured when you said you'd never discounted 
the possibility of children, but this is the best I can do."
	"Mulder, do us both the courtesy of not pretending this is 
your way of gift wrapping a normal life for me."
	"Normal?  This is normal to you, Scully?  Since when the 
fuck did you want to be normal anyway?"  I'm babbling.  I've lost 
control of the situation, and I need to get this back on track or I'm 
going to lose her again.  I can't do that.  Not now.
	Her chest is heaving, and her hands are balled into little 
fists.  "Fuck you, Mulder!  Why do I keep doing this?  I drop 
everything, I change the whole fucking dynamic of my life for you.  
I've already given up two careers for you, why do I keep packing 
my little bag and trotting out after you, even after what happened 
three years ago?  Why the hell am I even here?"
	"You are here," I practically bellow at her, "because I told 
you I wanted you to be here, and that seemed to be enough for you.  
If it wasn't, Scully, then I don't know why you're here either.  I 
know why I wanted you here, Scully, that's for damn sure."
	She shakes her head and strolls toward the door.  "Same 
thing you always wanted me for, to clean up your messes."
	She turns the knob, but I slam the door closed again with 
the combined weight of our bodies.  We are finishing this 
conversation.  "Don't walk out on me, Scully.  Not again."
	"Mulder, I seem to recall you being the one to walk out last 
time, or have you forgotten."
	I run my fingers along her collar bone, and her body thrusts 
involuntarily against mine.  "You know I haven't forgotten, 
Scully." She glares back at me, furious, struggling to control her 
erratic breathing, but not frightened.  Thank you God, she's not 
afraid of me anymore.  "Jesus Scully, can we start over, please?"
	I put on my most pathetic face, and she sighs in defeat.  
"Start over where?" she replies, sounding tired and deflated.
	I smile and shift against her, her body moving in 
counterpoint.  "Let's go back to where I asked you to stay for the 
next forty or fifty years."
	"Mulder, I can't promise you that right now," she answers 
in a tone laced with regret.
	"Dammit," I reply softly.  
	She places a hand cautiously on my chest.  "Mulder, it's 
been three years since we've even spoken to each other.  I know 
that we still.... feel the same way about each other.  But, Mulder I 
have obligations in DC, obligations that I can't ignore without 
serious consequences for both of us.  For all three of us, for that 
matter."
	I nod.  Okay, that's an explanation I can live with.  "I know 
that, Scully."
	"Besides, Mulder, I don't have your trust anymore, and..."
	I shake my head.  She can't believe that.  I won't allow her 
to believe that.  "No, Scully, you still have my trust.  Look, I may 
hate the choice you made, but I don't hate you for making it.  It 
drove me crazy, Scully, that you would participate in a campaign 
of misinformation, but I know you were doing it to protect me, and 
that you think these vaccine people really are doing the right thing.
	"And Scully, if I were the least bit wary of you, I would 
have done my damnedest to make sure you never found out about 
Clara."
	She nods her head slowly.  "Okay, Mulder."  The rest of 
her reply is cut off by Clara's cry.
	


	"Looks like someone's awake," he says.  I'm surprised our 
shouting match hadn't woken her already.  Standing by the crib, 
his hand slips down to twine its fingers with mine.  Clara waves 
her little fists at us and wails again.  Mulder gently lifts her from 
the crib and bounces her lightly on his shoulder.
	"She's wet," he announces in a hushed tone.  I have to 
smile at the way he seems fascinated by the simple operation of 
putting a new pair of Pampers on Clara.  Her wailing dies down to 
unhappy whimpers.
	"She's probably hungry, Mulder," I point out.  
	"Are you hungry, baby?" he asks her, moving toward the 
kitchen.  "Scully, can you open a can of formula?  Third shelf on 
the right."
	We manage to get a bottle put together before Clara's 
fussing becomes wailing again, and Mulder lumbers down 
carefully to the couch, cradling her in the crook of his arm as I 
throw a rag over his shoulder.  
	"I want a complete medical workup on her," I declare.
	He grins.  "YOU want a complete medical workup?" he 
teases.  I feign a glare and he adds, "Of course, Scully.  I've 
already made the appointment for tomorrow."
	"Did you take some time off yourself?"
	He chuckles.  "Of course, Scully, two weeks of paternity 
leave.  Then I've got to find someone to watch her while I'm at 
work."
	Clara turns away from the bottle and pouts at me.  I lean 
forward and wipe her mouth.  Mulder smiles at us.  "Clara, do you 
like your new house?"  She gurgles in response.  "I bought this one 
for you, Clara, for you and Scully.  Good schools and a great 
playground down the block.  I'm working on getting Scully to stay 
too.  Would you like that?"
	"Mul-der," I warn. 
	"Go to bed, Scully, you're exhausted."
	"Of course, Mulder," I answer, mocking his tone playfully.  
He smiles.
	I kiss little Clara's face and creep toward the bedroom, 
faintly wondering if I should go to the guest room instead.  Once 
I've brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas, I decide I'm too 
tired to deal with it.  He can decide.  Sometime later, half asleep, I 
hear him softly singing some nonsense song about a cart and a 
diamond ring.  Then I feel him curl up behind me in the bed.  He 
smells like formula and baby powder.
	Mulder murmurs something nondescript and nuzzles his 
nose into my hair.  His fingers run along my stomach, and a spark 
shoots through my body.  Diluted as it is by drowsiness and cotton, 
I feel it intensely.  Thank you, Mulder.  Thank you for making me 
feel again.  Even if some of these are things I don't want to feel.
	"G'night, Scully."
	
	Sunlight is streaming in through the windows, but that's 
not why I wake up.  Little hands are tugging at my hair with an 
insistent grip.   Then I feel larger hands disengaging the first set.
	"Don't do that, Clara.  You'll hurt Scully.  We want to 
make Scully happy so she'll stay.  You don't want her to go away, 
do you, baby?"
	Clara starts to fuss and kicks her legs against the mattress.
	"Oh, don't get so upset, baby.  Even if she goes away, 
she'll come back.  Scully always comes back."
	Oh, please stop, Mulder.
	Clara kicks her legs some more and rolls her body closer to 
mine.  She grasps handfuls of my pajamas and rubs her face 
against the cloth.  She whimpers, then punctuates it with a yowl as 
Mulder attempts to pull her away.
	I turn over and pull her close to me instead.  Mulder looks a 
little embarrassed.  I assume he's unsure of how much I heard.  I'm 
much too tired to discuss it right now.
	"Come here, sweetheart," I coax her.  She immediately 
snuggles into my breast.  "You can sleep here with Scully and 
Daddy, okay?"
	"I didn't know you were awake," he apologizes.
	I lift Clara gently and roll back over.  Mulder, in usual 
Mulder oblivion, doesn't take the cue.  With a dramatic sigh I 
reach back and tug at his arm until it is draped over my waist.  
Permission granted, Mulder wraps himself around us, one arm 
resting gently on Clara's tummy.
	"You know Mulder, this isn't all that far removed from my 
ideal picture."
	I feel his smile against my cheek.  "Sorry, I never was very 
good at gift wrapping, Scully."
	"You're doing just find right now," I manage around a 
thunderous yawn.
	"Scuhlee?"
	"Go to sleep, Mulder."
	"Yes, Mom."

	

2:13 p.m. Friday
	
	"She's still sleeping," Scully informs me, glancing at Clara 
over my shoulder.  The hospital noises seem to be lulling her as 
opposed to disturbing her.  "Do you know this doctor?" she adds.
	I smile at her.  "I checked her out, Scully.  She's clean."
	With the arm that isn't holding Clara, I pull Scully against 
my shoulder.  She sighs and closes her eyes on a frown.
	"What's wrong?"
	Scully shrugs.  "It would be very easy to get used to this, 
Mulder," she responds, her eyes still closed.
	"That's the point, Scully."
	Silence is her only response.   After an eternity she says, 
"Clara needs a middle name."
	"Pick one, Scully."
	"Mr. Mulder," they call, finally.  Dr. Dorothy White smiles 
at us and gently takes Clara out of my arms.  She protests slightly, 
but behaves herself for the most part as the doctors and the nurses 
prod at her.  Then it's immunization time, and I let Scully hold her.  
I just can't stand to be the one restraining her as they shove needles 
into her arm.
	"Dr. Andrews, report to ER," blares over the loudspeaker, 
as Dr. White puts another Band-Aid on Clara.  "Dr. Scully, Dr. 
Katherine Scully, report to ER immediately."
	Scully and I gape at each other.  She pushes Clara into my 
arms and rushes out of the infant ward.  I can't keep up with her.  
Looks like she can still run after all.  I start to chase her down the 
stairs, but Clara screams at being jostled around like that, so I wait 
anxiously for the elevator.
	Ignoring the protests of orderlies and nurses, I push through 
to the room where Scully is standing.   She's in the center of a 
circle of four stretchers.  The men laid out on them are shaking and 
groaning.  One seems to be turning light blue.
	"We need cold water bathes.  We have to induce 
hypothermia in these men."
	"But, doctor..." one of the nurses starts.  
	"Do what she says!" shouts a man I can only assume is Dr. 
Andrews.  
	"Scully?"
	Scully looks up and me and shakes her head.   Still, she 
pushes through the stretchers and grabs a set of scrubs near me.  
"Get Clara out of here, Mulder."
	"Scully?"
	"Don't argue with me!" she screams.	 Clara gives an 
answering yelp.  "Sorry baby," she whispers to Clara.  "Go back 
upstairs, Mulder and see what Dr. White has to stay.  I'll come 
home when I can."
	"Scully?"
	"Mulder!" she replies, sharply, snapping her gloves.  "Get 
her the hell out of here.  She's not vaccinated yet!"
	Vaccinated?  Against what?   I take another look at the men 
on the stretchers and realize how many possibilities there are.  I 
hold my screaming child closer and run out of there even more 
quickly than I ran in.  She shrieks violently and I stop, lean against 
the wall and rock her on my shoulder.
	"Calm down, Clara.  I'm sorry.  I know how scary it is 
when Scully yells."
	After what feels like an hour, her shrieking levels off to a 
duller roar and passers-by stop staring.   She no longer sounds 
panicked, just perturbed.
             Dr. White merely raises an eyebrow at me and my still 
very unhappy daughter.  
	"Take a seat, Mr. Mulder.  There's something we should 
discuss," she announces.
	"Mr.  Mulder," she begins, blowing air nervously from 
between her lips.  "I have reviewed the results of your paternity 
test, and everything seems to be in order.  Therefore, you'll 
understand why I am somewhat...perplexed by the results of your 
daughter's blood test."
	I hold Clara closer and bounce her gently in an attempt to 
clam her down.  She is still crying from the little roller coaster ride 
I took her on.  I reach into the bag Scully packed this morning and 
pull out one of the bottles.  Clara latches on gratefully and finally 
settles down a little.
	"If this goes over your head, just tell me, Mr. Mulder.   
Your genotype is AO.   Your daughter is phenotype O.   That 
would be fine if the mother's blood was also something and O.  
However, according to our records, Julia Sommers is type AB.  
That only occurs with genotype AB, Mr. Mulder."
	I stare at her for a moment, trying to follow the thread.  
Suddenly, I do understand.  "You're saying Julia is not this child's 
mother?"
	Dr. White nods and shrugs.  "I can't explain it, Mr. Mulder.   
I couldn't even begin to try, actually, unless Julia was some sort of 
surrogate.  But there are no records to support that, at least none 
that I could find."
	I nod, my mind taking off in one hundred little directions.  
"Actually, I do have some idea, Dr. White, thank you."  I get up 
and gather everything together.
	"Mr. Mulder?"
	"I'm sorry, were you not done with Clara?"
	She shakes her head.  "No, it's just..."
	"Thank you.  Please call us when all the results are in," I 
answer with a blinding smile.   "Hey Clara," I say as we pull out of 
the hospital, "wanna see where Daddy works?"



	I lean heavily against the door, closing it with my own 
weight, more than a little surprised that he left it unlocked for me.  
I guess he didn't want to risk my knocking waking up Clara.  I turn 
the deadbolt behind me.  God my feet hurt.  
	I slip out of the shoes and notice the pair of slippers by the 
door.  God bless that infuriating pain in the ass.  I wonder if he 
knows that the Gunmen did the same thing.  My feet are in fuzzy 
heaven.  I glance at the clock.  Impossible, it can't be just 8 
o'clock.  Then again, my body is still on DC time, so it feels like 
10.  I can't be surprised that They knew I was hear, I only wonder 
know exactly what the point of today's little exercise was.
	I stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water.  There's a 
note on the fridge.  `Dinner's on the stove if you're hungry.'  I 
wrap it in Saran and shove it in the refrigerator.   I couldn't eat if I 
tried right now.
	"Not hungry?"
	Half-naked Mulder is filling the arch between the kitchen 
and the living room.  I shake my head, look away, and take a drink 
of my water.   I'm tired, but not so tired that I am unaffected by a 
half-naked Mulder.  I'm not sure it's possible to be that tired.
	"How's Clara?"
	"She's healthy, as far as they can tell.  A few of the tests 
are going to take a few days."  I can feel him standing there behind 
me.  If he were anyone else, I'd feel trapped between him and the 
counter.  Instead of feeling cornered, I feel cocooned.  Or maybe 
I'm delirious. 
	"Call me as soon as you know anything?"
	Mulder clamps one large warm hand on my shoulder.  
"Scuh-lee?"
	Why does he have to say my name like that?  "What, 
Mulder?"
	Whatever he was going to say, he wisely opts to say 
something else.  "Since tomorrow is your last day here, why don't 
we go out to dinner or something?"
	I stare at his other hand as it rests on the counter beside 
mine.  His body is very close to mine, so close that I can smell 
him.  "Okay," I reply, regretting how weak my voice sounds.
	"Scully?"  I can feel his hands in my hair again, slowly 
unraveling it so that it falls down my back.    
	"I'm sorry I lost it in front of her like that, Mulder, but I 
had to get her out of there."
	"She'll get over it.  She's going to miss you though.  I had 
to wrap her up in your pajama top to get her to calm down 
tonight."
	I manage to laugh at that.  "I'm going to miss her too," I 
confess quietly.  
	"Hey, Scully, that leaves you without a pajama top now, 
doesn't it," he quips with exaggerated glee, placing his hands back 
on either side of the countertop.
	I nod solemnly.  "Well, you're obviously sleeping topless 
too.   That'll make us even."
	"Oh, you noticed."
	I turn, my back now pressed against the counter's edge, 
caught between his arms.  "I've always noticed, Mulder," I admit 
with a smile.
	He smiles back, then lifts me onto the counter.  Before I 
realize what he's planning, his fingers are on the buttons of my 
blouse.  "I'll help you get ready for bed, Scully."
	I should stop him.  I should gently push his hands away, 
smile my little smile and tell him I need a shower.  He'd be 
disappointed, but he'd accept it, and probably be wise enough to 
sleep in the guest room.
	That's the sensible thing to do, but it's not the right thing 
anymore, and it's not what I want.  What I want.  I haven't wanted 
anything like this in so long, haven't felt anything like this is so 
long.  That warmth is crawling up through my stomach again, 
more intensely than it ever did during any faked orgasm with Ed, 
or even the real ones with Jack a million years ago.
	Mulder has reached the last button, an expression of 
astonishment on his face.  Maybe he's as surprised as I am that I 
let it go this far.  His eyes search mine out in the dim kitchen, 
asking mine how much farther I'll let this go.   I answer with my 
shoulders as they relax to let the shirt pool around my waist.  
 	His fingers trace up the middle of my stomach until he 
reaches the barrier of my brassiere's front clasp.  The click seems 
to echo off the surfaces of the kitchen appliances.   The scrap of 
cloth joins my shirt and Mulder leans back slightly, affording 
himself a better view.
	His voice comes out thickly strangled.  "I guess you're 
ready then," he croaks out.
	I duck my head slightly, hoping the low light hides the fact 
that I'm blushing at the way his eyes rake over me and the slow 
smile spreading over his face.  Sucking in a deep breath, I take one 
of his hands in both on mine and meet his eyes.   "Yeah, I'm ready, 
Mulder."
	I'm not sure what I expected him to do.  What he does is 
stand back so I can slide off the counter and follows me back to 
the dark bedroom.  I slip off my slacks, panties, and slippers and 
am in the process of 	pulling out a new pair of pajamas when I 
hear the lamp snap on.
	"You're naked, Scully" he announces.  It sounded like `yer 
nekkid, Scu-lee.'
	I drop the pajamas and turn to him, hands on hips.  "You 
noticed?"
	He huffs a laugh and squirms uncomfortably on the bed.  
With one glance, I can see the distention of his sweatpants.  "You 
could say that," he replies, gnawing at his lower lip.
	I approach the bed, half wary half giddy.  From his 
expression, I surmise he's in a similar state.
	"Turn off the light."

	Oh god.
	Naked Scully. 
	Naked Scully is sitting next to me on a bed in the dark.  
After a moment, I realize that I'm gaping at her, frozen.  
Tentatively, I reach out to put my hand on her shoulder.  A sudden 
noise stays my hand.
	Screaming.  Someone is screaming.  
	It's Clara.
	Scully laughs quietly as I groan dramatically in response.  I 
roll off the bed and jog to my daughter's room.  When I return, 
Scully has put on pajama pants, and one of my old tee-shirts is 
billowing around her upper body.
	"Looks like she's got my sense of timing," I joke.  Clara is 
quickly calming on my shoulder. I slip her out of Scully's shirt and 
let her loll around the bed in her diaper.  She rolls onto her 
stomach and kicks her feet at the air around her.  
	"She seems happy," Scully comments.
	"I checked her diaper and she just ate about an hour before 
you got home."
	"Looks like she just wanted attention."
	Clara rolls over again and babbles wordlessly.  Scully flicks 
her fingers lightly over the baby's stomach and Clara dissolves into 
a fit.  She flails about on the bed, then grabs Scully's hand.
	"She's going to miss you," I remind her.  
	Scully playfully tugs her hand back and gently lifts Clara 
into her lap.  "I'm going to miss her too," she answers, imitating 
Clara's facial expressions.  
	I watch them for a moment, feeling a heavy tranquillity 
settle over me.  "Hey Scully.   There's something I think I should 
tell you."  
	She raises an eyebrow and then turns her attention back to 
Clara, lifting her into her lap.
	"Her blood is type O and mine is A..." I trail off, deciding 
how to break the news.
	"I thought you said you'd taken a paternity test, Mulder," 
she breaks the silence.
	"I did.  She's mine, Scully.  But Julia is type AB."
	Scully stops moving for a moment and slowly lifts her 
head.  "That's impossible Mulder."
	"Maybe not, Scully.  What if she's not Julia's daughter?  
We've seen this before, Scully."
	She rubs her temples.  "Mulder..."
	"Scully, what's your blood type?"
	"Mulder..."
	"Scully, I went by the office on the way home.  We'll have 
the results in a few days."
	"Mulder..."
	"Yeah Scully."
	She draws her eyebrows together and transfers Clara from 
her lap to her shoulder.  Clara coos happily and burrows into 
Scully's neck.
	"I want to believe."

	

7:15 p.m.  Wednesday
	
	The pictures came today, but still no word from Them.  My 
phone calls go unreturned.  They are doing this on purpose.  
Maybe they are waiting for the other shoe to drop too.  Which 
would be worse, finding out that she's not mine, or finding out she 
is, but that I have to stay across the continent from her?
	I think about the pictures instead.   Such a wonderful 
surprise.  Mulder is full of them these days.  Before dinner that last 
day, we stopped by a photographer's studio and had portraits done, 
of Clara, of him with Clara, of us with Clara.  One of me with 
Clara.  If I look too hard, I'll invent phantom likenesses in our 
faces, so I look at the picture of me with Mulder, the 
photographer's suggestion.
	Five years seem to have dropped from my face.  We're 
sitting of course, since I don't own five inch heels anymore, and 
Mulder has one arm around my waist.  We're smiling, not huge 
toothy smiles like the photographer wanted.  Our smiles, the kind 
we used to throw at each other during silly debates over greasy 
food in towns whose names I can't remember.
	"Dana?"
	I jump, dropping the photograph.  It flutters to the floor 
while I shove the others back in the envelope.  "Mom, I didn't hear 
you knock."
	She nods.  "So I noticed.  When you didn't answer, I got 
worried."  She grimaces slightly.  "Old habits die hard."
	Her eyes dart to the picture by my feet.  I bend to retrieve 
it, but she's faster.  "This is recent, Dana," she says, her tone laden 
with curiosity.  
	I nod, no point in pretending.  "Yeah Mom.  Last weekend 
actually.  Maybe I should have said..."
	Suddenly, my mother begins to laugh.  Hard.  So hard her 
face is turning red  and she's beginning to shake.
	"Mom?"  She shakes her head and waves her hand at me, 
placing the picture on the table.  And still laughing.  "Mom, what's 
so funny?"
	"You.  Your brother," she manages to gasp out.  "He called 
me and asked where you were this weekend."  She takes a deep 
breath and begins to speak in an even tone.  "I told him I assumed 
you'd gotten back together with that Ed person you were seeing 
and had gone away for the weekend."  She struggles to swallow 
another laugh. 
	"What is it Mom?"
	"Bill must have gone on for an hour about how glad he was 
that you had `gotten over that nutcase Mulder' and were spending 
time with normal men again."
	Okay, I have to laugh too, just a little.  Later, I'll kick Bill's 
ass.  "I'm sorry Mom.  I should have called to let you know I was 
going out of town.  I know you tend to worry."
	She smiles.  "That would have been nice.  However, as I 
recall, Fox had a habit of dragging you off without giving you that 
chance."
	"That he did," I agree.  
	"So what happened, Dana?"
	"Mom, I broke it off with Ed months ago, you know that," I 
answer in an attempt to divert her attention.
	She is not deterred.  "No silly, with Fox."
	I shrug.  "He flew in Thursday and wanted me to go to 
Colorado with him for a few days.  So I did," I breath out, folding 
my fingers together over the table.
	"How is he?"
	My smile must be wistful.  "He's fine Mom.  He's ... 
happy."
	"What aren't you telling me, Dana?"
	"Do you want some coffee Mom?"
	"No, I want an answer to my question, daughter.  There's 
something you aren't telling me."
	"Mo-om," I plead.  I can see her eyes straying toward the 
large manila envelope on my desk. I think I know what she will 
ask.  I am wrong.
	"So are you moving to Colorado now?"
	In fact, I am so shocked that I answer truthfully without 
even thinking about it.  "I can't move until I have a job waiting for 
me there."
	Mom laughs again.  "Maybe I should consider moving to 
the West too.  Bill and Charlie are there already."
	I smile at her and glance at the photograph again.  "That's a 
bit premature," I tell her, regretting how true that is.
	My phone rings.  For a moment, I consider not answering.  
It could be anything, my brother, telemarketers, but somehow I 
know it isn't.  Other monumental phone calls come rushing back.
	Dana, we lost your father.
	A body was found in your partner's apartment...
	She needs your help.
	I needed you to know that I'm okay, Scully
	I'm coming over, Dana.
	"Scully," I answer automatically.
	"Hey," he says.
	"Hey," I breath.
	"Scully....  Congratulations, it's a girl."
	I struggle to continue breathing.  "You're sure?"
	"I'm e-mailing you scanned copies of the results right 
now," he answers.
	I turn on my monitor and wait for my inbox to fill.  With 
the click of a button, the pictures fill my screen.  Those little black 
dots that mean everything, the lab supervisor's report, Danny's 
signature authenticating that the records are mine.
	Involuntarily, I let out a sound somewhere between a 
scream and a laugh.   Mulder chuckles, then sniffles.  
"Everything," I struggle to get out, "everything appears to be in 
order."
	He laughs again.  "You okay, Scully?"
	I take a deep breath and throw a glance back at my mother.  
She's watching me closely, her expression concerned, but she's 
keeping her distance.  "My mother is here.  I think I have some 
explaining to do."
	"Have you heard anything, Scully?"
	"I'm sorry, Mulder."
	"So am I, Scully.  Call me as soon as you hear from them," 
he says, ringing off.   For the thousandth time I wonder why it is 
that Mulder and I never say goodbye.
	"What's the matter, Dana?"
	I smile, feeling my eyes begin to water.  I open the 
envelope and spill the contents on the table in front of her.   She 
sifts through them, picks up one of Clara alone, and waits patiently 
for me to explain.




	
9:15 p.m.  the following Thursday
	
	"Mulder?"
	No answer.  The knob turns under my hand and I breeze 
through the door.  I call again.  Still no answer.   I drop my bags 
next the couch, trade my heels for the slippers, and close the door 
behind me.  
	"Mulder?"
	Still no answer, but the door was open.  Something is 
wrong.  I know he was going back to work this week, but it's late 
even for Mulder.  I look outside again and see that his car is gone, 
and one I don't recognize is in its place.  Something isn't right.  
	Clara's cry breaks the stillness and I maneuver through the 
dark apartment to the nursery.  Clara sees me and her tone 
changes.  She sits up and begins an ecstatic babbling of syllables.  
She reaches her arms up to me and laughs in short little gasps as I 
lift her out of the crib.
	"Hi, Clara."
	"Ah-goo."
	"Ah-goo to you too, sweetheart.  You happy to see 
Mommy?"
	She grips my shirt and I feel myself blinking away tears.  
	Mommy.
	Our little reunion is shattered by the sound of the toilet 
flushing.   Instinctively, I reach into my jacket for my gun.  
Someday the people at the airport are going to notice that my 
badge is hopelessly out of date and I'll get arrested.  Until then....
	I shift Clara to one hip and swing that hip away from the 
doorway.  Carefully, I creep toward the living room.  A tall 
willowy woman is standing by the couch, looking curiously at my 
abandoned luggage and shoes.
	"Hands in the air!" I scream.
	She jumps and thrusts her arms up simultaneously.   "Who 
are you?" she whispers frantically.
	I don't answer.  Instead I circle her, then flick on the light 
for a better look at her.  She's younger than me, with dark hair 
piled on her head, dressed in a manner that Langly would 
appreciate I'm sure, and she's utterly terrified.
	"Oh god," she stutters out, "please don't hurt the baby."
	"Who are you?" I demand.  
	"Roberta," she tells me.
	"What the hell are you doing here?"
	She looks completely exasperated now.  "I'm Mr. Mulder's 
baby sitter," she replies.
	Oh shit.   Of course.   I lower the gun slowly and slip it 
back into my jacket.  The door swings open just then and I nearly 
whip it back out.  Mulder, weighed down with two brown grocery 
bags, blinks at me in pleased surprise.
	"Hey you," he mutters, seemingly oblivious to Roberta, 
who is still standing with her arms in the air, tears running down 
her face.   He leans in and places a kiss on my forehead gently.  
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
	"Job interview at Mercy Boulder tomorrow," I inform him.  
He grins widely at me.
	"What the hell is going on?" screams Roberta.
	Clara responds with her own scream and I pull her closer.  
"Roberta, this is Scully," he answers, still not having looked at her.  
I extend my free hand.  Instead of taking it, she slumps to the 
couch.
	"Oh, okay.  My brother told me about you."
	Mulder notices her for the first time.  "What happened, 
Roberta, is everything okay?"
	She sniffs.  "Your gun-toting girlfriend just took eight years 
off my life, Mr. M but other than that, I'm just peachy  thanks."
	"Sorry about that," I say sincerely.   Mulder smiles and 
swallows a laugh.  "Your brother?"
	"Yeah, John.   He told me you'd be around soon."
	"John?  You mean Byers?"
	Mulder nods.  "She came highly recommended," he teases.  
"Besides, now I get free cable."
	She grimaces.  "From now on, I'll check the doors when 
you leave, Mr. M."
	"Speaking of leaving," Mulder begins after a long silence.
	"Yeah, yeah," she replies.  "Give me a minute."
	She wanders toward the study and returns with a thick 
black case.  "Tomorrow, Clara bear," she sing-songs.
	Clara doesn't respond.  She's too busy playing with the 
buttons of my blouse.   "You are definitely your father's daughter," 
I joke.  She sticks her tongue out at me.  I return the gesture and 
she squeals.  
	"How long are you staying, Scully?" Mulder asks.  
Wonderful smells are beginning to emanate from the kitchen.
	"Well the interview is tomorrow.  I was planning to stay 
through the weekend."
	"I'd like that," he says.  Suddenly, his face turns serious.  
"I'll, uh, I'll get the guest room ready for you."
	The temperature in the room drops several degrees.  Clara 
whimpers at the stiffness my body has taken on.  Silently, I pick up 
one of my bags and carry it to the one room of the house I haven't 
been in.  Mulder is standing in the doorway when I turn around.  
	"Scully?"
	"What Mulder?" I ask, trying not to sound as hurt and 
confused as I am.  I shouldn't be I know.  We're not lovers, not 
really.  Sure, we spent our nights in the same bed last time.  As I 
recall, we were about to share more than beds had not Clara 
interrupted, but I shouldn't have just assumed.
	"Scully, I just...."
	"You just what, Mulder."
	"Never mind," he sighs.  "Dinner will be ready soon."


	It takes me a moment to see her.  Lightening flashes 
through the sky, illuminating her frame.   Her kimono-clad body is 
leaning against the window, her fingers pressed against the glass.   
Rain smacks loudly against the panes, but she heard me come in.  I 
can tell by the way she's pulled her robe closer and crossed her 
arms over her chest.
	"You left the door open."
	"I was listening for Clara," she answers. 
	"You should get some sleep, Scully," I recommend.  "I can 
listen for Clara.  I'm not sleeping anyway.  You should sleep, 
Scully."
	She looks slightly concerned as her eyes dance over my 
face fleetingly before she turns back to the window.  "Why aren't 
you sleeping, Mulder?"
	"I, uh, you're.....Scully...  You should sleep, I wanted you 
to sleep, Scully."  I'm babbling now, and I feel my shoulders tense 
with the strain of not moving closer to her.
	She lets her arms fall to her side.  "You wanted me to 
sleep?"
	My "Yeah," comes out an octave too high.   I exhale and 
try again, "yeah, Scully."
	She takes two steps back and settles on to the bed.  "oh."  
The precursor of a smile has twisted her mouth when she turns to 
look at me.  She turns back quickly, ducking her head.  I approach 
slowly, giving her the chance to object.  I lay down on my 
stomach, my head next to her hip.
	She doesn't look at me, but her hand comes to rest in my 
hair.  She runs her nails over my scalp and sighs again.  
	"Mulder, some day we're going to have to learn how to talk 
to each other."
	"You'd think we would have figured it out by now."
	"You'd think," she agrees.
	"It's not that easy though sometimes, Scully?"
	"You mean like tonight?"
	"What should I have said, Scully?  I'm not dead, so please 
don't try to sleep next to me tonight?"
	She arches her eyebrow and begins running her fingernails 
across my back.  "As it is though, neither of us is sleeping."
	I nod and roll onto my back.  Scully merely lifts her hand 
and begins dragging her nails over my stomach.  Her hand moves a 
little to the right.  I squirm a little, biting my lip against the ticklish 
sensation.  Scully pretends not to notice, but she begins to move 
her hand a bit faster.
	"Stop," I managed to eep.
	"What was that, Mulder?" she asks, her eyes shining now 
as she fights not to smile.
	I can't hold it any longer and I let loose a barrage of 
giggles.  She is still fighting a smile, then gives up and laughs at 
my pathetic struggling.  I curl up around her hand, my face ending 
up in her lap.  Suddenly, she's not laughing anymore and neither 
am I.
	"That wasn't very nice, Scully," I mutter, my voice muffled 
by the silk of her robe.
	"Just doing some investigating, Mulder."
	"Mmm."  Despite myself, I feel a yawn coming on.  Scully 
runs the back of her hand over my cheek.
	"Sounds like we could both use some sleep."
	"Yeah," I force through the yawn.  Scully scoots around on 
the bed until she's prone against the pillows.  My head is resting 
on her stomach now.  "Good night , Scully."
	"Sleep well, Mulder."

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

	She wakes up and wriggles out of his arms, rousing him in 
the process.  The coffee brews while he takes a shower and she 
lays out the clothing.   While she showers and dresses, he makes 
omelets.   The baby screams her morning greetings and Mom 
calms her, feeds her, and deposits her in the playpen.  
	Dad helps her pick out a tune on her xylophone while Mom 
clears the table.  Baby delights both by pulling herself into a 
precarious standing position with the help of the playpen wall.  
The help arrives and they let her watch the child as they scurry to 
finish their preparations for the day.
	Dad kisses Mom's hand when he thinks the baby-sitter isn't 
looking.  Mom smiles at him, still not used to such unqualified 
affection from him.  Baby frets at their leaving and Mom runs back 
to reassure her that she'll be home soon.  
	How normal.   How refreshingly dull for them.   How 
positively boring for them.   
	He'll get in a car and drive off to investigate baby killers 
and religious cults, secretly looking for little grey monsters.  She's 
thinking about the days when she will leave this little white house 
every morning to research a cure for Armageddon.  
	But not today.   Today, she will see my car at the end of the 
drive and know what a lovely metaphor her interview at Mercy 
Boulder was.
	We'll drive to nowhere in particular, and I'll tell her why 
there is no job interview, explain the letter her partner will find on 
his desk today.   I'll explain everything but why.


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


	She's sitting on the sofa with her bags packed when I get 
home.  Clara is passed out on her lap.   She doesn't look up at first, 
just keeps her eyes fixed on nothing across the room.
	"You know?" I ask, wondering at how much our moods 
have changed since this morning.
	"It's so simple.  I'm surprised we never considered it 
before.  We both just assumed I would be the one to move."
	"It's not just that.  If you'd said no, Scully, I couldn't have 
come back to DC"
	She nods and finally looks at me.  "I don't know how to 
feel about this, Mulder."
	"Me neither."
	"I think in some odd way, this is part of the deal I made.  He 
promised, for what that's worth, that there would be no more .." She 
falters, her eyes trying to speak for her.
	"no more like Emily."
	She nods.  "I believe my exact words were `for experiments'."
	"If this isn't an experiment, what is it?"   She doesn't have an 
answer, and neither do I.  "So now what, Scully?"
	Scully smiles slightly.  "You could stay here, Mulder," she 
whispers, her fingers tightening on Clara's legs as she speaks.  
	I laugh and take a seat next to her on the couch.  "No I 
can't, Scully.  You know I can't.  So do they."
	"Yeah."
	"Do you have time to go house hunting?"
	She shakes her head and picks up a folder from the coffee 
table.  I flip through the pages, ten houses with pictures and floor 
plans.  "They saved us the trouble?" I ask.
	"I don't know how much `They' are involved in this one.  I 
get the impression that a lot of this is personal."
	Our eyes meet, and I look away quickly.  I don't want to 
think about it, can't think about it.  Her hand caresses my knee 
casually and I turn my thoughts elsewhere.  
	"I'll look the houses over and tell you what I think."
	"Your bags are packed, Scully."
	"I have to leave.  I'm needed back in Washington, Mulder."  
Her hand squeezes my knee.  "I'm sorry."
	"Me too."  I lean back a little, wanting to memorize the 
expression on her face when she looks at Clara.  "Is Roberta still 
here?  I'd like to drive you to the airport."
	"I'd like that," she replies, stretching her legs as she lifts 
the two of them from the couch.  "When is your transfer 
effective?"
	"I have two weeks to find suitable accommodations.  Then 
I am due back at work in the Behavioral Studies unit at Quantico."
	She grins.  "I think I can hold out that long, Mulder."
	I grin back, standing and pulling her close to me.  "I can't," 
I growl into her ear.
	Scully pulls back slightly and smirks.  "I'll call you 
Monday night about the house."



8:14 p.m.  Friday

	*In the cool of the evening when everything is gettin' kinda 
groovy.*
	"Frohike, did you have to bring this CD?" I ask as I turn the 
temperature down on the oven.  
	*I call you up and ask you if you'd like to go with me and 
see a movie.*
	"Aw come on, Scully, you should appreciate this one."
	*First you say no, you've got some plans for the night*
	"Leave her alone, Doo-hickey and give me a hand with the 
ISDN hook-up," Langly grouses.  "You sure you want this done 
legally, Scully?"
	*But then you stop and say `all right'*
	"Yes, Langly."
	*Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you.*
	Frohike is singing along now, despite the disapproving 
looks from Langly and myself.  Regardless of their singing, 
endangerment of my electronic devices, and raiding of my already 
bare kitchen cabinets, I've enjoyed their frequent visits the past 
few days.  Moving is exhausting and time-consuming, but the 
empty hours still tick by slowly after work.
	Mulder shipped all the baby furniture up two days ago.  
Since I put down the deposit Tuesday, the boys have been helping 
me put the house together, but they've been busy.  So today, we 
are frantically trying to get things together before Mulder and 
Clara arrive.
	Unconsciously, I check the clock again and consider calling 
Byers at the airport.  I think Byers understood that if Mulder and I 
saw each other in the airport, we weren't likely to make it back 
here tonight.  Besides which, Byers looked incredibly grateful for 
an excuse to leave, so an hour ago I tossed him my car keys, since I 
have a car seat now and that old VW van of theirs does not.
	"Spooky!  I said Spooky!  Oh yeah, all right! Hey, hey!" 
Frohike belts out off key.
	"Put in a different CD," begs Langly.   "And if you're not 
gonna help me, go help Scully with dinner or something."
	A car pulls up in the driveway and we all stop what we're 
doing and run to the window.  They're here.
	"They're here," says Langly aloud.
	Mulder lifts Clara carefully from the carseat and slams the 
doors with his hip.   Byers is carrying the diaper bag, but they seem 
to have left the remaining luggage in the car for now.   Mulder 
smiles at me and Clara begins her litany of nonsense noises as I 
take her from her father.
	Langly and Mulder embrace in one of those guy hugs. You 
know the kind, where you don't really hug and you smack each 
other on the back a lot.  Frohike envelopes him in a bear hug of 
course.  Once I get Clara into her playpen, Mulder introduces our 
daughter to the three oddest men on earth.
	"Um, Mulder, why don't you, uh, relax.  We can get the 
luggage out of the trunk,"  Byers suggests.  He's in rare form  
tonight.
	Langly looks confused for a moment, but Frohike nudges 
him in the ribs and gives an exaggerated wink and the three of 
them shuffle out, leaving us alone together.
	"How was the flight?" I ask, as he blurts. "Do you like the 
house so far?"
	I laugh, and so does he, stepping closer and putting his 
hand on my shoulder.  He leans down slightly and wraps his other 
arm around my waist, pulling me tight against him and lifting me 
slightly in the process.  Still, he hesitates, so I twine my fingers in 
his hair and gently pull his face down to mine, for our first kiss.
	For a moment, I think he's going to pull away after the first 
contact, but then his lips press more firmly against mine, his 
fingers tangling in my hair.  My mouth opens so that I can nibble at 
his bottom lip, my heart pounding when he moans in response.  
Then his tongue sweeps over mine and I feel my back pressing 
against the archway between the living room and the dining room.
	I have no idea how long we stay like this, separating only to 
breath and change angles slightly.  His hands roam my face, my 
shoulders as I run my hands over his chest.  Suddenly, I hear the 
door open along with the words,  "I told you we should have 
waited five more minutes."
	Mulder and I turn, our bodies still pressed together to face 
them.  It takes a moment for them to come in to focus, but when 
they do I try not to laugh.  They looks utterly flabbergasted and 
embarrassed, as though walking in on us was their fault under the 
circumstances.
	"I'll set the table," I offer, gently pushing against Mulder's 
chest.
	He blinks at me for a moment.  "What?" is the first word 
out of his mouth.  Then, "Oh, you made dinner, Scully?"
	Yes, I made dinner.  Everyone either enjoys it or makes a 
pretense of doing so.  I think they are too happy to have Mulder 
back after three years to notice the lasagna was in the oven about 
five minutes too long.  After two hours of conspiracies, contacts, 
and Clara's progress, Clara decides she needs some dinner and 
attention too and I retire with her to the nursery.  
	Some time later, I hear the sound of dishes clattering and 
the dishwasher running.  The van roars away down the street and I 
hear Mulder's suitcase open, hear the water in the bathroom, hear 
the TV start up.  CNN.  Sounds like Langly managed to connect 
everything.  Clara finally falls asleep and I sneak into the bedroom 
to slip into the ensemble I purchased for this evening.  
	Mulder is asleep on the couch.  Of course.  For a moment, I 
consider waking him.  Then again, between the scramble to pack 
up everything in the house, spending his last night in Colorado in a 
sleeping bag on Roberta's floor, and discovering that Clara has 
inherited my love of air travel, he deserves a rest.  Suddenly, the 
silk kimono feels impossibly cold against my skin.  I sigh and 
throw a blanket over his exposed chest. Tomorrow is another 
night.

	
	
	Another house.  The linoleum of my kitchen is cool under 
my feet and the carpet in the office, with its two desks, scrapes 
pleasantly against my toes.   I laugh out loud when I notice the 
Battleship box on the book shelf.  Clara is snoring softly in the 
crib, her blankets tucked snugly around her shoulders.   The spare 
bedroom is clean and deep-toned, and thank you God, not where I 
will be sleeping. 
	The couch is awfully comfortable though.  God, I really 
didn't mean to do that.  Trust my hormones to fail me exactly 
when I need them most.  Real manly man in the full bloom of my 
manhood I am not, I suppose.  
	However, if I'd known she was wearing that last night, I 
believe I would have been successfully revived.  She's sleeping 
soundly, silk draped over her body.  I lean against the door frame 
and just look at her.  My Scully.  
	The other woman in my life starts making noises in the 
other room.  I switch off the baby monitor next to Scully's bed.  I 
want her to sleep.  She deserves it after the week she had.  Sure, I 
had to move too and I had Clara, but I was off work and she 
wasn't.
	Keeping Clara entertained is so soothing.  When she sleeps, 
I sleep.  When she wants to play, I play.  When she's hungry, I feed 
her.  When she cries, I cuddle her.  I realized a few weeks ago that 
this is what I wanted from Scully once, to take care of her.  But 
she's not a child.  She's more capable than I am in fact, of taking 
care of herself.
	My baby has one hell of a Mom.
	Clara smiles in her sleep and burrows further into my chest.  
I kick up the footrest and lean back in the rocker-recliner.   My 
logical Scully would pick the perfect piece of daddy furniture.  
There's another one, separated from mine by a coffee table, 
slightly smaller in size.  All that's missing is a little red rocking 
chair for Clara.
	On the mantle across the room are the pictures, including 
one obviously taken in the Lone Gunmen offices.  I'm pretending 
to read a newspaper over Scully's shoulder, but actually, we are 
looking at each other, our bodies pressed close together on the 
pretense that the offices are crowded.   That picture must be ten 
years old.  I guess it was obvious, even back then.
	Clara knocks a little fist against my chest in response to my 
muffled laugh.  I wrap my giant hand around her tiny one, 
apologizing for having forgotten my own rule.  When Clara sleeps, 
I sleep.
	Sometime later, I feel that small warm bundle being 
removed carefully from my lap.  A few minutes later, it's replaced 
by a heavier, slightly damp bundle that smells of shampoo and 
soap and not at all like my daughter.
	"Good morning."
	"Scully?"
 	"If you were expecting someone else, we should talk," she 
answers.  I open my eyes and find her smiling down at me.  Is 
Scully flirting with me?  Good morning indeed.
	"Where's Clara?"
	"All the way over there in her playpen, Mulder."
	"I wasn't complaining," I assure her.
	She smiles again and leans against my shoulder, that long 
red hair still a bit damp against my skin.  I lower the footrest so I 
can rock the chair.  Unsurprisingly, it's a very different sensation 
from rocking Clara.  My stomach growls and Scully replies by 
running her hand over its surface.
	"Hungry?" she teases, "I'll make some lunch."
	"Lunch?"
	She sits up and nods.  "Would you like a shower first?"
	"Lunch?" I repeat, looking around the room for a clock.  "It 
can't be time for lunch."
	"Maybe not in Colorado, Mulder.  It's 11:20 here though."   
I finally find the clock and discover that she's correct.  She slides 
off my lap and stretches, making her jeans and t-shirt cling to her 
in an absolutely fascinating way.
	I reach up and slip a finger into one of her belt loops.  
Scully obligingly lets herself tumble back into my lap.  From her 
playpen, Clara laughs at us.  I reach up to kiss her, but stop just 
short of her lips, recalling that morning or not, certain side effects 
of sleep are not romantic.  She gives me her most bemused smile 
and I press my finger against her lips instead.
	"Hold that thought," I order, slipping out from underneath 
her.   When I return, enhanced by my toothbrush and some 
Listerine, she's in the kitchen, wielding a knife at some carrots.  
Warning, never sneak up on Scully when she has a weapon.  I 
learned this lesson a long time ago.  There goes the element of 
surprise.
	"Go take a shower."
	"That wasn't the thought," I reply.
	She turns, lowering the knife to the counter.  I lower my 
mouth to hers.  Her mouth opens immediately and all conscious 
thought slows down as Scully thoroughly devours my mouth.  At 
some point, I regain consciousness and run my hands down her 
shoulders and back.  When I reach her waist, she rests her hands on 
mine, slowing the kiss down.
	"I know, I know," I grouse, "shower."
	She says nothing, just goes back to slicing vegetables.  I 
find myself oddly transfixed by the site.  Scully with swollen lips, 
cooking for me, our daughter babbling happily in the next room.  
Scully looks up and fixes me with her sternest gaze, sighs, and 
goes back to the cutting board.
	"Hey Scully?"
	"Yes Mulder?"
	"I love you."



	Mulder just left me staring at the carrots in shock. 
	The sentiment is not a surprise, but the declaration was.  He 
didn't stick around for a reply.   I can hear the shower running, my 
memory immediately supplying me with the image of him, rivulets 
of water running down his chest.  
	I whack the carrots viscously with the knife and throw 
them in a bowl, keeping one eye on Clara as I work.  Sandwiches 
and cut vegetables may not be much of a lunch, but I'm really not 
in the mood to cook and the Gunmen haven't left me with many 
options.
	Clara demands her lunch as well, and is sleeping happily 
with that blissed expression that only babies can manage when her 
father returns.  He swaggers back in, dressed but damp, and in his 
bare feet.   Clumps of wet hair hang into his eyes and he shoves his 
hands in his pockets as he leans against the arch.  
	"Hey," he says.  "Clara sleeping?"
	I nod.  "You hungry?" I ask.   He just smiles and holds out 
a hand.  I take it and start to tug him toward the kitchen, but he 
tugs back, pulling me tight against his chest.  His mouth comes 
down on mine hard, demanding, searching, leaving me breathless.  
"I thought you were hungry," I succeed in gasping as he pulls back, 
only to attack my neck instead.
	"I am," he growls into my ear.  His mouth travels back 
down my throat then back up to my mouth.  His lips hover just 
above mine, so I step up on my toes and wrap my arms around his 
neck to bring his mouth back to mine.  "Starving."
	His hands travel down my arms at a leisurely pace, then 
down the curve of my torso to my waist.  He moves up again, over 
my stomach, stopping just short of my breasts.   I let myself slip 
down just slightly, pressing them into his hands.  His fingers brush 
over the sides in a light tickling motion. 
	Mulder lowers his head and kisses my neck again, then 
down over the cloth that covers my chest.  He lifts me up slightly, 
so that my legs wind around his waist, his hot breath teasing 
through the cloth of my shirt.  "Mulder,"   I groan.  He smiles at 
me and takes the hem of my shirt in his hand.  God, his mouth is so 
hot, so wet, even through the silk of my bra.  I lace my fingers 
through his hair, holding him close and biting the inside of my 
mouth not to moan.
	"Scully," he murmurs over and over into my cleavage.  
"Scully, Scully, Scully."
	There is a clanging that it takes me a long moment to 
recognize as the doorbell.   My lethargic response is due largely, 
I'd wager, to the fact that Mulder is now focusing his attention on 
my other breast.
	"Dana!"
	Mulder and I both start and turn to the door.  The bell 
chimes again and I see the shadow of my big brother across the 
window shade.  "They'll go away?" I suggest lamely, not wanting 
move from the rather comfortable position we're in at the moment.
	"Da-na!"
	"Are you sure they're home?"
	"The cars, are here, Bill.  Jesus, Dana, I'm hungry, now 
answer the door!"
	"Charlie," I sigh.
	Mulder carefully sets me down.  "Your other brother?"
	"I think they are both out there," I inform his as I tuck the 
hem of my shirt back in to my jeans.    The bell peals several times 
in quick succession and Clara rejoins with a violent scream.
	"Jesus," he whispers, complete with panic face.  "Both of 
them."
	I smile at him as I stroll to the door.  He's already got Clara 
in his arms and she's steadily calming.  I throw the door open and 
fix my little brother with my most unamused expression.  "Did you 
have to wake up the baby?"
	"Is everything okay?" Bill asks, staring at my face.
	Charlie starts laughing and throws his arms around me.  
"Sorry sis," he whispers in a voice to low for Bill to hear.  "I 
always did have a great sense of timing."
	Bill hugs me too, briefly, and smiles grudgingly at me.  
"Mom tried to explain.   I'm not sure what to think, Dana.  I 
thought this was all over with."
	I sigh and cross my arms over my chest.  "Bill, let's not do 
this right this moment, all right?"
	Charlie clamps a hand over my shoulder.  "Hey, I want to 
meet my new niece."   I nod and step back so that they can get 
through the door.  Mulder and Clara are sitting on the floor in front 
of our chairs playing with one of her pop-up toys.  
	"Mulder..."
	He looks up and gives a forced smile as he lumbers to his 
feet.  "Bill."
	"Mr. Mulder."
	"And you must be Charlie?"
	Charlie extends a hand and grins.  "I am.  It's nice to finally 
meet you.  I've heard...."
	"I'm sure you have," Mulder replies, his smile becoming a 
bit more genuine.  
	"Mom and the other women folk and kids are on their way, 
Danes.  They're bringing some food and stuff since this little 
housewarming was a bit impromptu."
	Oh great.  The whole family.  Mulder and I exchange 
pained glances.  Charlie grins at us.
	"Maybe we should have called first?"
	"That would have been nice, Bill."
	Clara seconds the motion by throwing one of her blocks at 
Bill's leg.   Bill laughs.  "I see she takes after her mother."
	"She's really beautiful, Dana," adds Charlie.   A heavy 
silence sets in as we look around at each other, not sure what to 
say.  I can tell all sorts of lovely things are this close to tripping off 
Bill's tongue.  Charlie has already given Mulder and appraising 
once over and is doing the same to the living room now.  Mulder 
picks Clara up and holds her close to his chest in a distinctly 
possessive grip.
	A horn honks outside the door and Bill opens it    My 
sisters-in-law, with their sons in tow, enter first with bags of what I 
hope is enough food for everyone.   Mom follows and closes the 
door behind her.  Everyone stands almost at attention for a 
moment.
	These are the times when I really love my mother.
	She practically marches across the room and offers an arm 
to Mulder.  They embrace and she smiles at him.  "Welcome 
home, Fox."   The others in the room, except Bill, relax visibly.
	"Mrs. Scully, meet Clara Margaret Mulder."
	Mom and I stare at him.  Then again, I suppose I never did 
take him up on his offer to pick the middle name.  He shrugs.  "I 
thought it sounded nice."   Mom takes her first granddaughter from 
Mulder's arms and Clara stares up at her curiously.  
	"She has your nose, Dana."
	"Thank God," replies Mulder.
	Mom laughs and I smirk at him, stepping close to him so 
that I can wrap a hand around his bicep.  My  brother's wives start 
unpacking food, trying to maneuver around my kitchen despite 
Charlie's getting in the way and stealing pieces of fruit out of the 
bags.
	"Relax, Fox," says Mom, returning Clara to his embrace.  
"Dana, I'm watching Charlie's children tonight and with Bill and 
Tara in the house, one more isn't going to be a burden.  Besides, 
I'd like some time to get to know my little namesake."
	Mulder looks a little reluctant, and to be honest I'm a bit 
wary myself.  Then again, I've had enough interruptions to last a 
lifetime this month.  I give my consent and smile up at Mulder 
reassuringly.
	We are going to make it through this day after all.




	I can hear Scully giving last minute advice to her mother 
about Clara's feeding habits and her mother's laughing reply.    To 
be honest, I'm still a little nervous about handing Clara over to 
anyone, but if there is person in this world I can trust with my 
child, it's Mrs. Scully.   Please let her do a better of job of taking 
care of my daughter than I did with hers.
	Have I mentioned Scully has great taste in furniture.  The 
mattress under my back is incredibly comfortable.  Plus it smells 
like Scully.   There's even a smudge of tell-tale lipstick on her 
pillow.  You'd think, as fastidious as she is about grooming, her 
lipstick removal would come right after brushing her teeth.
	But she always leaves it on.  I'm in a position to know this 
only because I used to drag her out of bed at odd hours of the 
night, and all those nights I watched her sleep in hotel rooms, both 
of us pretending it didn't happen.  We were so good at pretending.  
The door closes firmly, with two little click of the bolt.  I count her 
footsteps as she approaches and let myself roll into her as she 
settles onto the mattress.
	She smiles at me, her face inches from mine.  "I am sorely 
tempted to unplug the phone," she tells me.
	"We'll let the machine pick up," I agree, running my hand 
down her arm, over her waist to her hip.  She shifts into the touch.  
Encouraged, I tug her shirt from her jeans.  Simultaneously, we 
push off our shoes and she laughs silently.  "You're in an awfully 
good mood," I point out.
	"Why wouldn't I be?" she asks, her tone serious.  I shake 
my head and slip my fingers underneath the cotton to stroke the 
muscles of her stomach.
	"Your family seemed to like Clara," I comment as my hand 
strays upward.
	"They'll like you too, Mulder.  Just give it time."
	I nod absently, too absorbed in the way Scully's breast fits 
in my palm to discuss her family.  She sighs and pushes forward 
into my hand.  I lower my face to her waist, pushing the cloth out 
of the way with my nose and covering her skin with my mouth.   
Scully obligingly pulls the shirt up over her head as I make my way 
further up her body.  
	Unbelievable.  My Scully, warm and real under my hands 
and mouth, her face twisted as she steels herself not to react 
verbally.  Carefully, slowly so that she can stop me, I unclip the 
clasp of her bra and separate the cups.  Her eyes open to watch me 
as I move my mouth over her breasts, slowly circling my mouth 
around their curves.  When I suckle one rosy nipple into my 
mouth, she gasps at last, and I smile against her skin.
	Scully slips her hand under my shirt, dragging her 
fingertips over the skin of my back in a feather light touch that 
prompts a groan and increased suction.   For a moment, I am 
forced off her as she removes my shirt, but I quickly return, using 
my teeth gently to nibble at her.  My hand reaches up to caress her 
other breast and she moans.
	Her body goes stiff suddenly and I lift up, staring at her 
confused face.  I shake my head and crush her mouth with mine.  
The touch of our bare skin prompts another moan from her and she 
stiffens until my own involuntary groan bursts through.  "You feel 
so good, Scully," I whisper, running my mouth down her cheek to 
her neck.  She tastes good too.  I place a wet, open-mouthed kiss 
on her neck and she moans again, her body surging against mine.  I 
feel her stiffen again and stop, propping myself up on my elbows.
	"Scully?"
	"You don't have to stop," she assures me.
	"Scully, if I'm making you nervous, I should stop," I 
counter.   
	She rubs a hand over her eyes.  "You're not making me 
nervous, I'm making me nervous."   She meets my eyes and 
shrugs.
	"Scully, we don't have to do this right now just because..."
	"Just because we've only been putting off for a good 
decade now and this is quite possibly the only uninterrupted time 
we're guaranteed to have together for God knows how long?"  She 
sighs and drops her head onto the pillow.
	I watch her breathe with her eyes closed, her face still 
flushed.  Her necklace attracts my eyes back to her chest.  "Scully, 
is this a religious thing?"
	Her eyes fly open.  "What?"   Obviously, I was wrong.   
She's looking at me like I've grown a second head.
	"This has something to do with that `learning to talk to 
each other' thing, doesn't it."   She rubs her eyes and nods.
	I sit up and turn pointedly away from her before slipping 
my pants off.  They've become painfully constrictive, but she 
doesn't need to see the evidence of that right this moment.  I heap 
the covers around myself as I lay back down.  Apparently she 
thinks this is a good idea, because she does the same.
	"I didn't have to explain anything to the realtor under the 
circumstances, Mulder, but I wouldn't know what to say if 
someone asked."
	I prop myself up on one elbow so I can see her face.  "To 
say about what?"
	"Mulder, when we have to put Clara in day care, or even 
get her a new doctor, or, or, well, anything Mulder... what is my 
relation to her?  I'm her biological mother, but I have no legal 
rights where she is concerned.  I just happen to live with her 
father."
	"You could legally adopt her as your daughter, Scully."
	She shakes her head and sits up, resting against the 
headboard.  "I don't think the petition would be granted Mulder.  
I'm not your wife."
	"Yes you are," I retort immediately, instantly wishing I 
hadn't said it.  Because her face is contorting with the effort to 
control her laughter.   "I mean, you will be or you could be."
	She shakes her head, smiling widely.  "No, that's not what 
you meant.  You meant that I was, didn't you?"
	I nod helplessly, not daring to look at her face.  To my utter 
astonishment, she takes my hand and places our fists over her 
heart.
	"I did ask you once, remember?"
	She nods solemnly.  "I remember, Mulder.  I didn't say 
no."
	"I could give you one hell of a wedding Scully.   The 
biggest chapel in town, every cousin you've got for attendants, 
flowers draped from everything that will stand still, yards and 
yards of silk train and a lace veil that takes me five minutes to lift 
from your face."
	She shakes her head.  "No."
	"Vegas.  Elvis Blue Hawaii Wedding Chapel."
	She raises up on her knees, the sheets falling away from her 
body.  "Mulder, there's a middle ground in there somewhere."
	I'm too busy exploring her middle to answer.  She slumps 
against me slightly, leaning over to kiss my shoulders as I kiss her 
stomach,  My hand roam in circles over her back and suddenly she 
jumps.  This time, thank God, she doesn't stiffen as soon as the 
sensation passes.
	"Sensitive spot?"  I think she's blushing.  "That's where it 
is?" I realize out loud.  She nods and turns slowly.
	I run my hands over the marked skin and she sighs heavily.  
"Should we tell your mother?"
	She turns to look down at me over her shoulder and smirks.  
"About the tattoo?  Bill and Charlie would never let me live it 
down."
	I could really get used to playful Scully.  I decide to let 
playful Mulder wander into the picture for a while and gently nip 
at the skin of her rump.  She yelps, then breaths a laugh as I kiss 
the same spot.  "Did I tell you that you could kiss my ass, 
Mulder?"
	"On numerous occasions, Scully," I reply, rising up on my 
knees, trailing my mouth up her spine to her neck.   "But I was 
always afraid you'd kick mine if I followed through."
	I run my hands down her body, pressing my chest into her 
back.  She rests her head against my shoulder and meets my eyes 
as my fingers seek the warm center of her body.   She gasps as one 
finger slips in.  
	"god."
	After a moment, I realize that came from me.  Her eyes 
open, her pupils dilated.   The ice blue is melting.  So am I.  I 
honestly don't remember throwing her to the mattress and burying 
my face between her legs.  I was too busy memorizing her scent, 
the sound she made when my teeth grazed her thigh, and finally 
the taste of her moist pink-flushed iris.  
	Scully tosses her head back, her mouth falling open.  Her 
eyes close tightly as she calls out my name once.  I can feel myself 
shuddering in rhythm with her as her legs grip my shoulders.   
Suddenly her eyes fly open and her mouth forms a perfect little 
roseate `o' as she climaxes silently against me.  I've never seen 
anything so beautiful in my life.
	Reluctantly, I lift my head from the cradle of her legs and 
crawl up her body.  She's breathing hard, her face flushed.  She 
smiles sheepishly at me and squeezes my shoulder.  "I love you," I 
remind her, kissing her to spare her having to reply.  Or maybe to 
spare myself her lack of reply.  
	Her hand meanders down my chest to my waist.  Her 
fingers whisk across my cock and I suck in a sharp breath.  She 
runs her tongue across my lips and strokes me again.  One of her 
feet hooks behind my knee, forcing me to turn over.  She straddles 
my stomach and questions me with her eyes.  I almost laugh, but 
manage to smile instead as she slides down.
	"Inside, inside, inside," I murmur for no reason that I can 
explain at the moment.  
	"Yeah," she groans.  My hands clasp her waist, but I can't 
find the strength to lift her.  My hips jerk up off the mattress 
without finesse, but she doesn't seem to notice.  In complete 
contrast to the silence before, she's emitting a nearly constant 
stream of deep throaty whispers now, probably in response to my 
own involuntary ramblings.  
	God, she feels so god.  So wet and hot, incredibly hot and 
tight.  I hear myself emitting some unearthly frustrated growl as 
my body chokes just before orgasm.  Scully quickens her pace and 
I feel her convulsing around me, chanting my name, but still, I just 
can't quite.
	"It's okay, Mulder." Her hand caresses down my face in 
slow motion.  "I love you, Mulder."
	"Jesus.  Scully!"  I thrust up helplessly, sitting straight up 
as I empty myself into her.  My body drops bonelessly to the 
mattress and her head comes to rest on my shoulder.  
	After what feels like hours, I realize I am still inside her.  
"Tired?" she questions, running her fingers through my hair.
	I shrug and give a lopsided grin.  "You really love me?" I 
ask, knowing full well I sound like an idiot and not giving a damn.
	She just nods and stretches beside me.  "Going to sleep?" 
she asks lazily.  I nod absently, already feeling incredibly sleepy.
	"You had a different plan?" I yawn.
	She slips out of bed, tosses me my boxers, then grabs her 
robe from its hook.  "Bath," she explains.  She tucks the covers 
around me and rains a row of kisses across my chin and cheek, 
landing finally on my mouth.  "Sleep well."




8:00pm   Thursday

	Clara splashes at the water and laughs gleefully.  I do the 
same, gently patting the water around my legs.  It only took me a 
few nights to learn that bathing Clara gets me soaked through, so I 
might as well join her.  
	"Lee lee," she babbles.  "lee lee."
	I run the washcloth over her body.  She yanks it out my 
hand and bats my knee with it.  I take my washcloth and run it over 
myself.  She seems pleased and struggles to her feet.   I hold my 
hands just under her arms, not touching her but ready to catch her 
when she tumbles.  
	Instead, she takes one tentative step forward before 
careening into my chest.  Her eyes widen in shock at my laughter 
and she starts to cry.  "No, don't cry baby.   Good job, Clara."  I 
clap my hands, then take her hands in mine and clap them for her.
	"ya ya ya, lee lee!" she shouts.
	For the hundredth time, I wish we had a clock in the 
bathroom.  It's been at least two hours since I picked Clara up 
from the Gunmen's office.  Mulder should have been home at least 
an hour ago.
	We hear the front door open and she tries to stand up again.  
"der der der der der!" she squeals expectantly.
	`Der der' obligingly sticks his head in.   Clara makes an 
attempt to repeat her performance and after several falls, she 
manages to take two steps.  She claps her hands together and yells 
"ya ya ya," again.  
	Mulder lifts her up, ignoring that fact that she's dripping all 
over him and holds her close.  Clara grips his collar and rubs her 
face against his chest.  I toss him a baby towel and grab my own.  I 
turban the towel around my hair and slide into my slippers.  
Mulder's eyes rake over me as I reach over his shoulder for my 
robe.
	"I heated up a jar of that soup my mother gave us.  It's on 
the stove," I tell him.
	He shakes his head, resting Clara on the counter and 
fastening her diaper.  "Not hungry," he mutters.  "I'll put her to 
bed tonight, Scully."
	"Bad case?" He nods and holds Clara so close that she 
starts to fidget.  "Child homicide?"  He nods again and waves his 
hand, indicating there's more.  "Pedophilia?"   He doesn't nod, just 
looks in my eyes and bounces Clara in his arms.  I walk up behind 
him and wrap my arms around his waist.  He's been back at 
Behavioral Sciences Division at Quantico less than a week, and I 
had wished that somehow he'd have time to readjust before they 
remembered exactly how good a profiler he is.
	"I'll be okay," he whispers.  "I'll be fine, Scully."
	Around midnight, I hear him rattling around in the kitchen, 
rooting for food.  An hour later, he lays down next to me, staring at 
the ceiling.  I can feel the bed shudder underneath him as he cries 
silently.  
	Tentatively, I reach out a hand to him, running it down his 
arm.  He hooks his hand into mine and squeezes.  I sit up and let 
him crawl into me, pulling me into his lap and wrapping his arms 
around me in a loose warm hug.  
	"Do you remember the case with Gerry Schnauz?"
	Vividly.  One tends to remember being trapped in a trailer 
with a disturbed man wielding an ice pick.  "Yes, I remember, 
Mulder."
	"I wanted to understand, and you didn't.  I couldn't fathom 
why you weren't curious about how he thought.  Now I know.  
Jesus, I'd forgotten Scully.  I'd forgotten exactly what it's like to 
get inside the mind of such a sick fuck.  You aren't supposed to 
understand these men, just learn enough about them to catch them, 
and put them in little holes so they can't hurt little kids anymore."
	I stroke his back and he shivers violently.  "Lay down," I 
order.  He does so, bringing me with him. There's a fine layer of 
sweat over his face and chest.   "On second thought, let's get you 
clean."
	He blinks at me, confused until I grab my bathrobe.  He sits 
up and catches the robe I toss in his direction, grabbing the baby 
monitor on our way with his other hand.  "You finally drew my 
bath," he quips as I find the right temperature on the faucets.
	I smile at him and draw his face close to mine.  He accepts 
my kiss, and after a moment returns it.
	"You always," he tells me between visits to my mouth, 
"You always made me feel clean, Scully."





4:36 p.m. Tuesday
	
	I tap my nails impatiently against the door as I listen to the 
myriad bolts slide.   Frohike looks surprised to see me, but doesn't 
ask.   Langly has Clara in the high chair, wiping her down while 
Byers washes the tray in the sink.  
	"Sclee sclee," she greets me happily.  I manage a smile for 
her.  Byers catches my eye and we both smile, remembering his 
embarrassed advice that Mulder and I start referring to ourselves as 
`Mom' and `Dad' in front of Clara.  Her vocal skills are rather 
advanced, but Mulder and I are `Der der' and `Sclee.'
	"We weren't expecting you for a couple of hours, Scully.  
Something up?" asks Frohike.
	"Der der?" she asks expectantly.
	"No baby girl, Mulder's not here.  We're going to go visit 
him at Quantico, okay?"  I let Langly finish cleaning her, then pick 
her up.  "I can't discuss it yet," I tell Frohike.   
	I look Clara over carefully, examining her limbs as though 
the evidence of what I discovered this afternoon will be written on 
her skin.  She stares up at me, matching my solemn expression.
	"Is Clara sick, Scully?" Byers asks anxiously. When I don't 
answer immediately, he continues, "I know you were worried that 
she would..."
	I wave him off.  "She's fine, Byers, she's perfectly 
healthy." All three of them relax visibly.  "Perfectly," I repeat 
under my breath.  Langly hands me the diaper bag and I make a 
beeline for the door.
	The drive to Quantico takes forever.  On the way, my 
thoughts don't wander so much as pace frantically.  We know 
there are factions in the Consortium, including many who resisted 
my employment by the Smoking Man.  Is one group trying protect 
Clara, to keep her secret, to prove something to us?  My head 
hurts.
	The guard at the door looks at me strangely.  I brush past 
him confidently, and he doesn't question Clara's presence.  
Mulder's new boss takes note of me as I stroll past his office into 
the cubicle village where Mulder spends most of his time these 
days.  Mulder is hidden behind a three foot stack of papers, 
mumbling to himself as he makes notes on his yellow legal pad.
	"Lifting," he mutters in unison with the tape, screeching 
from repeated use.  "Lifting the narrow bars."
	"Mulder?"
	Disconcerted and exhausted, he looks up at me.  It take a 
moment for his eyes to focus on me.  When he does, he jumps up 
too quickly, sending cold coffee droplets splattering on his papers 
and a pile of sunflower seeds littering the floor.
	"Scully, what's wrong?"
	Feeling conspicuous, I gesture for him to follow me into 
the hallway.   The employee lounge is mercifully empty and I warn 
him to sit down before I explain my findings.  I was right, she's not 
like other girls.
	I had never before seen blood that failed to react when 
exposed to the virus.   But during this morning's test, one tube 
stayed crimson.   I spent the next several hours with that blood sample.  
Whoever the blood had come from was immune  to the virus.  I spent 
the rest of the afternoon tracing the paper  work to find out who 
`patient 
19' was.  
	"She's their grail," he whispers.
	"What?"
	He shakes his head and tugs at my arm until I'm sitting in 
his lap.  "I think that Clara, that this baby girl is what they have 
been trying to do.  I think the others, like..."
	"Emily?" I supply, equally reluctant to say the name.
	He nods.  "Emily," he acknowledges.  "What if they were 
failed attempts to produce this," he concludes by running his 
fingers over Clara's face, "immune human beings."
	"If that's what she is, Mulder, if she's their crowning 
achievement, why did they give her to us?"
	He shakes his head.  I drape my arm over his shoulders and 
his head comes to rest on my chest next to Clara's.   "I don't know, 
Scully.  I don't know."




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



	She eyes the nurse with condescension and incredulity.  I 
know she suspects the woman is on my payroll, but she can't prove 
it and she would never ask.
	"Are you sure?" she asks.  The woman nods and is 
dismissed, told to stall them on the front steps.  I know this 
conversation, this routine.  Before the words are out of her mouth, 
I can hear them, whispered in a tone of urgency.  "You have to go 
now.  He can't know."
	"I know the way to the back door," I acknowledge.  She 
almost smiles, but hides it.  She wouldn't want me to think I amuse 
her too much.
	She listens to me walk down the stairs, then watches me 
trudge through the backyard and through the gate toward the street 
where I always leave the car, just in case.  Only then does she 
instruct the woman to let them in.  I don't have to be there to know 
what happens.  She descends the stairs regally in her robe and 
slippers, gripping the railing to highlight both her strength and her 
frailty.  
	He'll embrace her heartily and she'll allow it.  She'll be 
pleased to see Miss Scully again.  She'll be delighted to meet 
Clara.   She'll be oh so glad to hear of their impending nuptials.  
She'll be tactful enough not to ask about Clara's origins.
	Miss Scully will see my car drive by and wonder if she 
recognizes it.   He'll think he smells cigarette smoke and wonder if 
it's his imagination.   Neither will say anything.  The woman will 
bring them tea and then give them some privacy.   Clara will 
entertain her with her babbling and she'll ask the appropriate 
questions about their new house, their wedding plans, and Clara's 
health.   
	Scully will take Clara to the car, to give them some time 
alone.   She'll let him hug her again.  This time she will hug him 
back.  She will ask him if he is happy.   He will tell her the truth 
and she will smile.  As they drive away, she'll see the remnant of a 
cigarette roll across the porch and wonder whether she should 
thank me or hate me.


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



Notes:  I know, I know, what's with the middle names?  I'm not sure, 
	but it seemed right at the time, and still feels right to me.
	Mulder hates his first name, after all, but he can't really 
	expect most people to call him `Mulder.'  Once again, plenty 
	of Mulder family dysfunction.  I tried to remain vague on the
	paternity issue, but it's clear what my version of CSM thinks, 
	I am sure.  Also, I know this is one of a plethora of baby 
	stories out there.  Thank you for reading yet another.  
	Feedback is
	blatantly begged for ladylilith@geocities.com


Acknowledgments:	First off, many thanks to Suzanna for her 
	invaluable advice and time.  Also to that spookiest of 
	teachers,  Lori, for all her editing, nit-picking, and 
	encouragement.  And as always, big thanks to the Haven 
	mailing list ladies and the  gals at Mulderoo's.