DISCLAIMER:  Mulder and Scully and the search for the truth all 
belong to Chris Carter and Co.  I'm just borrowing them.  I 
promise to return them in no worse condition than Chris would.:)
TITLE: HIGH TIDE
AUTHOR: Elizabeth Rowandale (bstrbabs@gmail.com)
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATIONS: SAR, MSR, Casefile, X-File
ARCHIVE: ONLY ON AUTHOR'S OWN WEBSITE UNTIL STORY IS COMPLETED.
TIMELINE: Takes place 11 months after "Water's Edge", continuing 
in that universe.  This universe turns AU sometime after "all 
things" and before "Requiem".

HIGH TIDE
by
Elizabeth Rowandale (bstrbabs@gmail.com)
Copyright (c) 2004


Chapter 4:


He didn't want to walk out the door.  He didn't want her to walk 
away.

For seven years they had risked their lives day by day and he had 
closed his eyes in the moment and let her walk into danger.

There was a reason he had kissed her only once in seven years.  
They had been tightrope walking on the line of survival.  If they 
had crossed sooner than they did...

Now they were on the other side. 

For a decade, Fox Mulder would have killed to keep Dana Scully 
safe.  But he had been able to respect her as an equal officer of 
the law.  He had respected her right to risk her life same as he 
did his own, let her play an equal part and make her own calls.   
One 5 am phone call and he had realized nothing was the same 
anymore.

The walls were down.  The lines had been crossed.  They were 
partners in all the deepest senses and in all the ways the Bureau 
forbid for a reason.  Silent promises had been made to protect 
and hold and shelter and everything--just everything--was 
different now.

He hadn't planned on that.

Scully lingered a bit too long with Christopher in her arms and 
the nanny waiting.  She asked Marguerite to keep Christopher 
inside today in case he was coming down with a cold.  But Chris 
wasn't sick.  Mulder knew that.  And if he hadn't known it 
before, he did when Scully caught his gaze for a second before 
passing Christopher's weight into Marguerite's arms.  A flash of 
fear, and an almost guilty downcast of lashes.

She was afraid for her child.

He was afraid for them both.

His family.

Everything had changed.

He tried to give Scully a ride to work.  Scully shook her head 
and took her keys out of her briefcase.  She paused with him on 
the front cobblestones of their apartment building, looking up 
into his eyes with those same blue lasers that had followed him 
on a thousand wild goose chases and tried to understand the world 
he was prying open for her.  "I have to go to work," she said 
simply.  Her tongue slipped over the corner of her mouth as it 
had on those thousands of deciding moments on cases across the 
country.  Except now he knew how that tongue felt inside his own 
mouth.

He nodded toward her keys.  Looked over her shoulder toward the 
parking lot where she had left her car.  The Jag.  They had sold 
the Lexus a few months ago and bought a new computer.  Scully had 
called it *their* money.  He wasn't sure how that worked, but he 
was willing to play Unreal Tournament on his 21-inch monitor, 
anyway. 

"Call me," he said simply.

She cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.  
She broke away before the emotion could deepen for either of 
them.  The feeling transferred, nonetheless.

She turned and walked away, briefcase in hand and trench coat 
blowing in the wind.  Her hair was shorter than when he had first 
come home, shoulder length again.  His Scully.

*His* Scully, now.  With scars on the inside of her arm.

Everything was different.


*****


"Agent Waterston.  Good to see you."  Walter Skinner held out a 
hand and Scully slipped her hand into his, solidly returned his 
handshake.  His hand was warm.  Hers was cold from the morning 
wind.

"Assistant Director.  Good to see you, too, sir."

"Wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances."

Scully let her eyes slip from this imposing man's probing gaze to 
his precisely knotted necktie.  "Well..." she said simply, but 
she let her words fade away.  She didn't want to confirm any of 
this out loud.  She wanted to go back to Quantico, teach her 
morning classes, have a cup of coffee, study a dead body.

"How have you been?"  Skinner asked, pleasantries forced as 
always.  She could never imagine this man as anything but an 
authority figure.  She had often wondered if Walter Skinner were 
even more deeply tied to his work than Fox Mulder.  Mulder was 
managing to find his place in life without his work.  She wasn't 
sure Skinner would be able to do the same.  Then again, maybe she 
was simply ignorant of the remainder of his personality.

"I'm fine, sir.  Thank you."

"And Agent Mulder?"

She couldn't stop the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.  
"Agent Mulder is good."

"And your son?"

"Doubling in size."

Skinner almost smiled at that.  There had always been kindness 
there.  Hidden.

"Please, have a seat, Agent."

Scully sank into the finely upholstered chair across from 
Skinner's desk.  She crossed her legs and rested her forearms on 
the armrests with meticulous precision.

"I appreciate you coming in on such short notice," Skinner said, 
taking his own seat and shuffling through folders on his 
expensive desk pad.

"No problem, sir.  I have a student covering my first class.  I 
do need to be back for my second, if that's possible, sir."

Skinner nodded.  "Of course. "  He folded his thick hands on top 
of the desk pad, and lifted his head to stare her down, hard.  
She didn't move.  "Agent Waterston, I called you here essentially 
as a courtesy, but also for my own piece of mind."

She lifted an eyebrow.  "Sir?"

He pushed up his glasses, folded his hands again on his desk.  
The backlight from the window shadowed his facial expressions.  
His stone countenance didn't require much masking.  "Agent 
Waterston, you were not only the investigating officer in the 
case of James Maley, you were also a victim.  Those two things do 
not blend well with objective criminal investigation, but the 
Bureau, based almost entirely on my recommendation, allowed you 
to continue your role as investigating officer, in the trying of 
the Maley case, based on your past example of professional 
conduct in the face of personal matters."

"And have I done something to alter your opinion, sir?"

Skinner shook his head.  "Your professionalism is not in 
question, Agent Waterston.  However, the decision has been made 
that neither you nor Agent Mulder will be named as members of the 
task force being formed for the purpose of re-apprehending James 
Maley."

She let that hit her for a long beat, swallowed stiffly.  "And 
Agent Michaels?"

"Agent Michaels will most likely head the task force."

Scully nodded, narrowed her eyes, looked away for just a moment, 
to the bookcases on the side of the room, feeling Skinner's gaze 
heavy on her skin.   "I have no doubts of Agent Michaels' 
capabilities.  But I do have to question the wisdom of such a 
decision, sir.  As for Agent Mulder, as invaluable as his 
investigative and profiling skills can be, he has no concrete 
professional tie to this case, and an obvious personal one.  But, 
sir, in my case...I can't say that I understand why I am being 
denied the opportunity to directly contribute my knowledge and 
experience of this man's history and psyche to assist in his 
apprehension."

Skinner cleared his throat, a sound of annoyance and discomfort, 
seemingly more at the task of messenger than at her careful 
questioning.  "First of all, Agent Waterston, you no longer 
retain your field agent status.  You would have to requalify to 
officially participate in a task force of this type.  As for 
placing you in a consulting position, we may look into that.  But 
if I had my way, you would be removed from the scope of this 
case."

"Sir.  I'm not sure I understand.  You only just now expressed a 
confidence in my--"

"Dana."

She flinched.

"I understood the reasons you chose to leave the X-Files and 
contribute to the Bureau by passing on your knowledge and 
experience to the new agents and by offering your expert 
testimony in forensic medicine.  I respect that decision.  And if 
you, too, respect your own reasons, I suggest you follow your 
convictions and get as far away from this rat's nest as 
possible."

*Christopher*.  The word was in the air as heavily as though it 
had been spoken.  Soft fingers twined in hers only hours ago, 
warm cheek against her neck.  Blood on her dining room carpet and 
Daniel unconscious on the floor.

She kept her gaze on the stapler at the near edge of Skinner's 
desk and didn't speak.  Then, "Thank you, sir."

Skinner nodded briskly.  "I assure you the Bureau is doing 
everything within its power to bring Maley back into custody as 
quickly as possible."

"I’m sure we are, sir.  Agent Michaels will handle the situation 
without fault."

Skinner didn't speak.  He narrowed his eyes, seemed to be 
grasping for something in the dark.  She gave him an out.  "Is 
that all you needed, sir?" she asked, no challenge in her tone.  
In some indefinable way, this man was family, a battle brother 
from long ago.

"Yes, that's all, Agent."

She nodded.  "Thank you, sir."

She pushed to her feet, and Skinner stood as she turned her back 
to move toward the door.

His voice stopped her with her fingers brushing the doorknob.

"Dana?"

She turned, squinting against the streaks of sun through the 
window, feeling like someone she used to be.

"I'm trusting you to keep Agent Mulder out of this case."

She released a sharp breath through her nose.  "Sir...this is not 
the first time you have asked me to serve as Agent Mulder's 
keeper.  I have never been such, and I never will be.  Mulder 
will do what Mulder will do, and I have very little influence 
over that."

Skinner's reply was swift and confident and caught her off guard.  
"You're mistaken in that.  If you weren't, I would have stopped 
asking a long time ago."

Scully stared at him for a long beat, fingers faltering on the 
doorknob.  Then Skinner took his seat and returned his attention 
to the papers before him, all but commanding her to take her 
leave.  She hesitated a moment longer, then swung open the door 
and walked away.


*****


"Well, I'll be cross-wired.  Fox Mulder.  How do we know it's 
actually you?"

"Frohike, open the door."

"You didn't call first.  How do we know it's you?"

"Frohike, open the door, or I'll tell Langly about the duckies on 
your underwear?"

"Man, you have duckies on your underwear?"

"Nice, Mulder.  Shut up, Langly.  They're just in the stitching, 
okay?  Tina was fixing them for me and she had--Oh, Christ, shut 
your face, Langly.  Thanks, Mulder."

"The DOOR."

"Oh, right.  Just a minute."

Frohike flipped his way through the myriad locks and swung back 
the heavy door to reveal the 3-D version of the figure on his 
security screen.  "Come on in," he said.

It was unusual these days to see Mulder in his work clothes.  He 
rarely visited their offices on professional matters.  Most 
visits were about down-time UFO hunts or computer games or hacker 
conventions.  Jeans and leather jacket and t-shirts were the 
order of the day.

But today he was in true G-man form, and there was something 
nostalgic about it, a spark of old adventure. 

"Greetings," Langly said, networking cable strung over his 
shoulder and tangled in his stringy blond hair.  He slapped 
Mulder on the shoulder as he passed, and one of the cables hit 
the floor.

"Mulder!  How are you?"  Byers came in from the adjoining room, a 
neat stack of papers in his hands; perhaps the only truly neat 
thing in the room.

Mulder nodded.  "Byers."

"Want a bialy?" Frohike offered.  "We picked up a box at the--"

"Have you guys heard what's going on?" Mulder asked, skipping the 
preliminaries and chilling the air.

Frohike set down the bakery box and took a step closer to his old 
friend.  "Yeah.  Yeah, we heard.  First thing this morning.  This 
bites, man.  How's the fine Ms. W handling it?"

Mulder shrugged, expressionless.  "How does she ever?"

Frohike nodded.  "Like a brick wall?"

"So what do you know?  Anything?"

Frohike shook his head, feeling the tension in his gut.  He 
didn't want to be going down this road again.  "Nothing.  We've 
just asked one of our sources about an hour ago to keep his ear 
to the ground, but all's quiet right now."

Mulder nodded tersely.  "Okay, what about surveillance?  What can 
we get on Scully?"

Frohike frowned, startled.  Langly paused and looked up from his 
cables.  "On Dana?" Frohike asked.  "What are we talking about, 
here?"

"What do you think I'm talking about?  I'm not talking about 
spying on her, I'm talking about protecting her.  Can we get 
someone watching her back, guarding her?"

Frohike sank onto the nearest stool, brow tensing.  He clenched 
and unclenched his fists, then laced his fingers in his lap.  
"Not if she doesn't want it, Mulder."

The silence was an active presence in the room.  Mulder pulled 
the inside of his cheek between his molars and rested his hands 
on his hips.  "Okay," he said finally, closing the subject, 
though Frohike half-wondered if that was a good thing or bad.  
"So, what about Maley?  I need everything you can get on him and 
his case."

"Hell, Mulder, you can get more through the Bureau than we can 
scavenging.  Why don't you just stay within official channels?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Not my case and it's hot right now.  I 
can't get what I need without drawing the wrong kind of 
attention."

Byers voice drew the attention of the others, carrying from the 
far end of the room.  "Mulder...why don't you just ask Dana?  
It's her case, she should have access to anything you need--"

"Scully won't let me research this case.  She's never let me read 
her statements, and she doesn't want me profiling this guy."

No one spoke. 

Mulder held out his hands, palms up, prompting a response.  
"What?  Can you help me here or not?  'Cause, I'm kind of on a 
schedule."

"Mulder," Frohike began, "I'm not sure...I mean...not so long 
ago, Dana wouldn't give us the time of day.  We took your side 
and did something she trusted us not to.  We're not really 
inclined to..."

"...to disrespect our friend, again," Byers finished.  "Either of 
our friends," he added, gentleness in his tone.

Mulder drew a long slow breath through his nose, released it with 
equal care.  He didn't say it, but Frohike heard what needed to 
be answered.

"Mulder, we don't know she's in danger, yet.  Maley could be 
high-tailing it for the border like a chicken at the Colonel's 
right now.  Chances are, with the hundreds of thousands of 
abductees out there, pursuing Scully--the one abductee most 
likely to get him arrested and convicted--is at the bottom of his 
'to do' list."

He watched as Mulder swallowed hard, opened and closed his jaw as 
if working the tense muscles.  "So, what do I do?"  Mulder asked.  
He lifted his eyebrows, cold and snappish in tone, but the very 
real fear was like a current flickering beneath.

Frohike stood from his stool, stepped up to his friend and placed 
a steady hand on his shoulder.  "You let the other agents do 
their jobs, Mulder.  You let Dana do her job.  And you take care 
of her."

"How?  That's what I'm asking.  That's what I'm trying to do."

Byers edged a few steps closer.  "Be being you--Mulder.  Last 
time she faced this, you weren't here.  This time you are.  Make 
sure she's knows that."

Langly shrugged beneath his cables.  "Yeah.  Just be there for 
her, man."

"That's not enough," Mulder said simply.

Frohike squeezed Mulder's shoulder again.  "My friend, I think it 
has to be."

There was nothing more to say.  They parted in silence.


*****


The tasks of her day were laborious.  There were students in her 
classes, instructors in the hallways, who knew what was going on 
with the Maley case.  She wore long sleeves beneath her blazer 
that didn't need to be pushed up for lab work, tightly fitted so 
they didn't drag through specimens.  She finished her 
administrative paperwork as quickly as possible after her last 
class and made the drive home through Friday evening traffic.  
She wanted to be home.  She wanted to see Christopher.  She 
wanted this to be a day like any other that came on the heels of 
making love to Mulder.  A day where the distraction behind her 
work came in the form of flashes of Mulder's skin beneath her 
fingers, his breath in her ear and the feel of the headboard 
dowels clutched in her grasp.  She wanted to go home to a welcome 
kiss laced with the lingering edges of desire--not of fear.

But this window of quiet had been foreign.  She hadn't really 
expected it to last.  Nothing ever did, for them.  There was only 
the calm before the storm.

It hurt to realize there was a kind of familiarity in tension.  A 
kind of *coming home*.

She sat in her car in the apartment complex parking lot for a 
long minute before gathering her things.  She stared at her 
gloved fingers loosely clasping her keys, at the Enya CD on the 
floorboard and the open bag of sunflower seeds she kept nearby 
for the smell, at the St. Christopher medal Daniel had tacked to 
the driver's side visor.

The sun was sinking into long shadows and the wind had quieted to 
an eerie silence by the time she made the walk from the parking 
lot to her front door.

Mulder and Scully walked through the routines of dinner and 
dishes.  Mulder was excessively attentive, looking out for her 
the only way he knew how.  She shied away from his attentions, 
and she hated the silent hurt in his eyes.  But she needed her 
walls up right now.  As much as she loved being with Mulder, she 
still missed having a place of her own to retreat to sometimes.

A few minutes before Christopher's bedtime, everything settled 
into quiet.  She was lying on her back on the floor, her son 
playing with a flap book beside her, Mulder propped on one elbow 
a few feet away.

He was growing into such an amazing father.  She hadn't expected 
to draw such passion and pleasure out of watching the 
relationship between man and child.  It pulled at her heart every 
time Christopher held up pudgy arms to Mulder, asking to be 
carried.

Mulder rolled a soft cloth ball toward Christopher, and 
Christopher batted at it enthusiastically and squealed.  He got 
hold of it and turned and held the ball out toward Scully.  
Scully touched a hand to it and smiled.  "Thank you, Baby, that's 
nice to share.  Thank you.  But why don't you roll it back to 
your Dad."

Christopher blinked his wide eyes at her.  She prompted him with 
a hand toward Mulder.  "Go on.  Roll it.  Roll it to your Dad."

"Mudda turn," Chris said, and he whacked the ball in Mulder's 
direction, which caught Mulder unprepared and clobbered him right 
in the nose.  Christopher and Scully both fell into impulsive 
laughter.

"Whoa, geez, good arm, buddy.  I definitely see some Little 
League in your future."

Christopher laughed again as Mulder stretched out on his stomach 
to retrieve the ball.

"Mudda throw to Cwis," Chris said, holding out his hands.

Mulder sat up and aligned himself carefully to aim.  "Okay, keep 
your hands out.  Keep 'em up high.  There you go, there you go.  
All right, ready?  Catch!  Hey good try, Little Guy.  You just 
have to grab it the minute it hits your hands, okay?  Just pull 
your arms in toward your chest.  Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay.  Here let's try again.  You ready?  Get your hands out..."

Scully lay on the soft carpet, watching the scene before her, 
hair sprawled around her, not really hearing Mulder and 
Christopher's words, but feeling every detail of the moment; the 
soft light from the fireplace, the clump of Christopher's hair 
that always stuck out no matter how many times she slicked it 
down, the musical peal of Christopher's laughter, the deepening 
lines around Mulder's eyes she hadn't noticed over passing time, 
the gentleness in this man's touch with her son, the light in his 
eyes at each connection with the vibrant young life.

The ball rolled far away, under the grand piano, and Christopher 
pushed his diapered bottom into the air and stood up, intent on a 
retrieval mission.  Mulder waited, gaze falling to meet Scully's 
as Christopher scooted under the piano.

Mulder was smiling softly in the wake of childish play, and the 
first flash of connection between Mulder and Scully was nothing 
but shared warmth over the child they were watching grow.  A 
connection they had shared dozens of times over the past year.  
But the purity lasted only a moment before both of them felt how 
much it hurt.

Because their perfect little bubble of life was being pierced.  
This wasn't a safe haven anymore.  They weren't quite as safe as 
the family down the hall.  Maybe they never had been.  But they 
couldn't maintain the illusion any longer.  The danger had 
returned in Technicolor.

And Mulder felt all of this in her simple gaze, and she gave it 
to him freely.  And suddenly, they were Mulder and Scully as they 
had always been, speaking without words, sharing the longing and 
the endless understanding that their paths would never be paved 
in gold or even match the standards of ordinary.

As Christopher delayed his return, opening the piano bench and 
shuffling through the pile of music, Mulder pushed up onto his 
hip and slid closer to Scully.  He gazed down at her, reached out 
and cradled her cheek with infinite tenderness.  She closed her 
eyes and luxuriated in his touch, drank in the gentle affection 
like water in a desert.  Everything hurt.  Last night seemed a 
lifetime ago.  She was breathing deeply, chest rising and falling 
and blouse pulled askew as she lay.  She felt distinctly feminine 
and beautiful and vulnerable beneath his penetrating lover's 
gaze.  This was Mulder.  Her Mulder.

His hand smoothed down her throat, between her breasts, and came 
to rest on the flat of her stomach.  His skin left an imprint of 
warmth amidst the cool silk.

They didn't speak.

Christopher came back and tossed the ball into Mulder's lap with 
a delighted squeal.  "Mudda throw!  'Gain, 'gain, 'gain!"

"It's bedtime," Scully whispered, speaking to Mulder when she 
should have been addressing Christopher.  But her words weren't 
what she was saying at all.  It was all in her tone.  And Mulder 
understood.  Then he took her hand and helped her to her feet and 
she moved reluctantly away from him and down the hall.

She retreated into the shadows of Christopher's room, navigating 
solely on the glow from the fish tank, and searched through his 
drawers for pajamas and a fresh diaper.  She tossed the necessary 
items onto the bathroom sink and turned on the tub water to warm.  
Then she crossed to her own bedroom, relying solely on the 
spillover of light from the hall.  She slipped her pearl earrings 
out of her ears and dropped them into a small drawer in her 
armoire.  She unbuttoned her blouse, and slipped out of the 
elusive silk, tossing it onto the foot of her bed.  Her camisole 
alone would serve better at bath time.

Her watch came loose easily in her fingers as she subconsciously 
timed the running water in the bathroom.  She put her watch on 
the corner of her vanity top.  She reached out for a hair clip 
and twisted her hair up off of her neck.

Then she saw it.  Innocent in the shadows.  Never announcing its 
presence.

A carousel horse figurine.  Something her mother had given her 
for Christmas three years ago, bought on a whim at a county fair 
craft show.  Scully had kept it on the mantle in Daniel's 
apartment.  Moving here, she had placed the figurine on a high 
shelf in Christopher's room, out of reach of eager little 
fingers, but in plain view from the crib.

She stood in her bedroom for a long moment, painfully aware of 
the lurking shadows around her.  She moved carefully to the 
bedside phone and picked up the handset and dialed Marguerite's 
number.  The older woman picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Marguerite."

"Dana, hello.  How are you?  Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine.  I was just...I was wondering...you 
know that little carousel horse on the shelf in Chris's room?"

"Ummm...yeah, yes, little ceramic thing, yeah, I believe I do."

"Yeah.  I just wanted to ask...did you take that down today?  Was 
Christopher playing with it, or..."

"No, no, we didn't touch it."

"Do you remember if it was on the shelf today?"

There was a brief pause.  "I'm trying to remember..."

"I know it sounds strange, but, it's kind of important."

"I'm not quite sure.  I've seen it so many times, but I can't 
remember if I actually saw it there today...."

There was a note of real concern creeping into Marguerite's 
voice, and Scully wanted to smooth it away, despite the growing 
need.  "It's all right.  Don't worry about it, thank you.  Have a 
good night."

"Oh.  Um...yeah.  Okay, sure.  You, too."

Scully said goodbye.   She calmly and carefully walked back to 
the bathroom and shut off the water.  She met Mulder as he 
carried Christopher down the hall toward his bath.

"Ready for his majesty?" Mulder asked with a grin.

"Yeah...Mulder..." -- he was picking up too quickly on the tremor 
of tension beneath her tone -- "...did you...did you take the 
carousel horse figurine down from Christopher's shelf?"

Mulder frowned.  "What?  The little ceramic horse, you mean?  The 
one your mom gave you?"

She nodded.

"No, I haven't touched it.  Why?"

Scully swallowed hard.  "I need to give Chris his bath."

Mulder passed the little boy across, but wouldn't let Scully get 
away.  "Scully, what's wrong?"

She shifted Christopher to her hip and he slapped at her bare 
skin, pulled at the low neckline of her camisole, remembering the 
prize that area had once held for him.  "Bubba bath, bubba bath," 
he chanted.

Scully didn't speak, breathing heavily.  "It's on my vanity," she 
said at last.

"What?"

"The carousel horse.  It's on my vanity."

She watched the slow realization painting itself across Mulder's 
consciousness and the hard resolve sliding in tight in its wake.  
"And you didn't put it there."

"No," she breathed.

"Marguerite?"

She shook her head.  "I called and asked."

Christopher leaned toward the bathroom, attempting to pull his 
mother with him.  "Bubba BATH!"

Scully hiked his weight up on her hip and rubbed his back, 
instinctively pacifying her child.

Mulder's jaw was clenched, determination firming his muscles, 
defining the lines of his physique in stone.  "We're getting out 
of here.  All of us."

"No," Scully said.  "We're not running from our home.  We can ask 
for a guard to be place--"

"Scully.  We need to go."

Her gaze faltered.  She parted her lips to speak, then closed her 
mouth and swallowed.  Chris tugged at her shirt again.  "Bath, 
bath, bath, bath!!"  He stretched out his arm toward the 
bathroom, eyes on the big yellow duck Mulder had once picked out 
for him.

"Not tonight, okay?" she said.  "I need to stay the night."

She could see the depth of struggle beneath Mulder's fine 
control.  In the end he nodded.  "Tomorrow.  Promise me."

Scully nodded, no longer able to fully meet his gaze, but no less 
sincere in her reply.   "Tomorrow," she said, the single word a 
promise.  Then she turned and took Christopher to his bath, 
Mulder hovering like a guardian in the hall.


*****

(End Chapter 4.  Continued in Chapter 5...)

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