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".


As always, there but for the grace of my betas...



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


Chapter 6:

"All body, all skin all bone, borrowed
All silky, all smooth and warm, borrowed
All pleasure, all pain, all want, borrowed
Almighty I stand alone
I know I'm living in...

...borrowed heaven."

                       --"Borrowed Heaven", The Corrs


The logistical preparations had become practiced routine.  How to 
close down their lives, put them on hold, vanish into the 
woodwork and leave some semblance of normalcy to which they might 
return.  A life reduced to accounts and numbers and signatures 
scrawled across waivers.

It always made Scully think of her father's extended times at 
sea.  The Powers of Attorney and insurance forms and joint 
accounts her mother had so meticulously catalogued and filed 
before each journey.  The late night hours at her grandfather's 
antique roll top, after the children were in bed.  Dana would 
creep to the upper hallway and watch, quiet as a mouse, through 
the banister dowels; her mother's studious silhouette against the 
light of the sole desk lamp.

The passports had always worried her.  Because she had always 
known in the back of her mind that her mother kept her passport 
current when her father was away just in case he got injured.  In 
case it was bad.  In case she needed to be there in a flash.

She kept her own passport current.  She told herself it was for 
her job, her freedom, her own safety.  And not for Mulder.

Scully sat on the soft carpet of their living room floor, 
paperwork spread on the coffee table before her.  Mulder moved in 
her peripheral vision, making phone calls, catching faxes from 
the Gunmen, going about the business of slipping them out of 
their reality and into yet another.  Relying on routine and focus 
to keep his mind off of the motivating factors.

Christopher slept quietly in the last minutes of his afternoon 
nap.

Scully was doing fine until the dizziness hit, followed almost at 
once by the too familiar nausea.  The words in front of her waved 
as though passing under water.  She grasped the edge of the 
coffee table for support and pulled off her glasses.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe, but the movement of her 
chest made her stomach clench.  *Dammit.  Not with Mulder here.*

A soft cry carried through the open door from Christopher's 
bedroom.  He was waking.  Which meant she should move.  No, not 
possible.

Even, shallow breaths.  The nausea was washing over her again and 
she was losing the battle for control.  Her heart raced.

She heard Mulder's footsteps moving from the kitchen.

"Was that Christopher?" he called.

Scully tried to nod her head, but that was a mistake.  Her vision 
washed yellow behind her closed lids.  "Yes," she said softly.  
"Could you get him?"

Christopher called out again.  Not yet crying, but if one of them 
didn't appear soon he would work his way to it.

"Yeah, I--Scully?  You okay?"

She felt him move closer.  Half opened her eyes for a brief 
glance, than closed them again against the concern in his gaze.  
*Just go, Mulder.*

"I'm fine.  Just get Christopher."

"I'll get him.  What's wrong?  You feel sick?"

"Yeah.  I'm okay, just get Chris, all right?  Please?"

Her son's cries were growing more insistent and plaintive.  He 
was calling for his mother.

"You're okay?" Mulder pleaded.

"Yes."  Her voice was barely a whisper.

She felt the pull in him, how hard it was for him to walk away.  
But he did.
 
And she barely made it to the bathroom in time.

She was thankful she hadn't had much appetite for lunch.

She didn't know how many minutes passed before she felt Mulder in 
the bathroom doorway.  She had pulled herself to the sink and 
rinsed out her mouth and wiped down her face, and she sat with 
her back to the bathroom cabinets, waiting for the room to hold 
still.  The tile was cold through the thin cotton of her slacks.

"Scully?"  The fear outweighed the irritation.

"I'm all right," she said, voice hoarse, but stronger.

"You don't look so all right."

She shifted position slightly, keeping one knee lifted, letting 
the other fall open to the cool tile.  The room didn't swim with 
the movement.  "Thank you."  Then, "I'm better.  I just need a 
few minutes.  Take care of Chris."  *And let me close my eyes.  
Just let me sleep here for a while.*

"He's fine.  He's in his high chair with Cheerios."

Scully almost smiled at the sweetness of the image.  She opened 
her eyes, and after a moment she was able to focus clearly.  
Mulder slumped against the door jamb, relief and frustration 
overtaking the fear.  "Talk to me, Scully.  What's going on?"

She shook her head.  "Nothing new.  It's happened before.  My 
body's just tired of the routine.  It'll be fine.  I just need a 
minute."

Mulder's jaw clenched, muscles working in his cheek.  She felt 
the faint ghost of the desire that gesture typically engendered, 
but she didn't have the strength to sustain it.

"It's not fine, Scully.  This has only happened once before, it's 
been months."

She swallowed, glanced away.  Yellow duckies on the curtains that 
had once been pink roses.  Life moved on.  "More than once," she 
said softly.

Mulder's posture tensed and he lifted from his slouch against the 
door.  "More than once?" he parroted.  Then off of her silence, 
"How many?"

"Just a few times."

"What's a few?"

"Three or four."

"Scully..."

"Mulder.  Can you just...sit with me for a minute?"

She almost hated herself for playing the sympathy card, but she 
needed this so badly right now.  Mulder felt the veracity in her 
words; his anger and distance melted.  She had always had that 
power over him.  She rarely used it.  He moved into the room and 
sank to the bathroom floor beside her, long limbs awkward in the 
confined space, shoes carefully avoiding the bathmat.

Silently, she leaned into him, hugged his bent leg close and 
rested her head on his knee.  She didn't want to speak, wanted to 
feel numb, quiet.  Mulder circled his hand on her back, rested 
his mouth against her hair and she drank in the support like 
water.

They sat together until Christopher banged his tray and called 
for company.  They didn't want to let go.


*****


"No, no, no, not that one, sweetie.  Give it to Mommy."

The motel room, so like the thousands Mulder and Scully had 
frequented in the past, was a fascinating new landscape for 
Christopher.  While Mulder carried up the luggage, Scully 
followed her son around the room, removing the more dangerous 
temptations and unplugging the phone before he made a long 
distance call.  In the midst of all the struggles and long-
standing pain in their lives, the wondrous new life before her 
saw all the beauty in the simplest concepts in the world.  Every 
waking moment was a glorious adventure to him.  Every colored 
light a miraculous treasure.  Every stairway a challenge to be 
met.  He had only the highest expectations for his world.  
Sometimes it hurt to look at him.

She needed to preserve that light for him so badly.

The last load of luggage came with a bag of Chinese food Mulder 
had snagged from the restaurant in the motel parking lot.

He tossed Scully a hopeful smile as he pushed the door closed and 
tossed the keycard onto the dresser.  "Ready for food?  I got it 
all steamed, no sauce.  Well, I got *your* half steamed with no 
sauce..."

Scully couldn't hide a genuine grin.  He was giving all he had to 
keep her spirits up.  And he was terrified.  The truth was, they 
had found something this past year.  Something that mattered more 
than anything they had fought for in the past.  And they weren't 
going to let go as long as there was a fragment of fight left in 
their bodies.  This life was theirs.  They couldn't let go.

Scully nodded.  "I'll start with some rice and see how it goes," 
she said kindly.  "Did you get some noodles and snow peas for 
Christopher?"

"I did.  And the big pile of napkins to go with them."

"That's a good Daddy.  Come on Little Man of mine.  Dinner time."

Christopher saw the food bag and stretched out a pudgy hand.  
"'Oodles!" he squealed.


*****


They all sat together on one of the two double beds to eat.  
Christopher talked Mulder into too many fortune cookies.  Scully 
managed to eat some rice and a few vegetables and even a bite of 
fortune cookie Christopher stuck directly into her mouth.  In the 
end, Mulder had to take the comforter out on the balcony and 
shake out all the stray noodles and peas and cookie crumbs.  
Scully did the same for her hair.

She took Christopher into the cool night air and let him run the 
length of the balcony a few times, helped him climb up and down 
the spiral stairs.

Between the excitement of exploring and the fresh air and 
exercise, his eyelids were already sagging by the time she ran 
the water in the bath.

Christopher, clean and lavender-scented, slipped into slumber on 
the bed furthest from the door while Mulder took his shower.  
Scully dimmed the lights, kissed her son another goodnight, 
hovering close for a long moment to listen to his even breathing.  
Then she dug out her toiletries and nightgown.  At home, she 
would have joined Mulder in the shower.  Here, she wanted one of 
them in ear shot of Christopher at all times.  Mulder took second 
shift.

Emerging from her shower clean and warm and finally feeling the 
hefty physical tolls of her day, Scully found Mulder stretched 
out on the second bed, surfing through the motel's limited number 
of stations.

"Anything good?" she asked, voice low as she sank onto the bed 
beside him.

"Not really.  Unless you want to watch 'Road Trip' again."

"I didn't want to watch it the first time."

"Liar."

She lifted her eyebrows in innocence.  "I didn't.

"You were laughing through half the movie."

"That doesn't mean I started out wanting to watch it."

"But you liked it."

"Hardly."

"Liar."

"Shut up."

She set the alarm on their travel clock and let her head sink 
into her pillow, facing Mulder, watching his profile by the 
flickering blue light of the television.

She was cold.  Chilling.  The first few days after the injections 
she could never get warm.  Layers of clothes did nothing to 
soothe the ice in her chest.  She nestled deeper beneath the 
covers and moved instinctively toward the heat of Mulder's body.  
He felt her movement, swung his arm out, welcoming her against 
him and circling her shoulders as she settled into the curve of 
his shoulder.  She closed her eyes and sighed heavily as her body 
softened and finally let go.  When she let her muscles relax a 
faint trembling quivered through her body.  She didn't realize 
how hard she'd been pushing to keep up the façade.

Mulder felt the shift, and his attention turned away from the 
late night TV.  She felt his breath on her forehead.  The 
flickering against her closed lids fell to blackness as he shut 
down the television.  "Hey," he whispered, the voice in her ear 
on a thousand cell phone calls, professional in everything but 
tone.  *'Hey, Scully.  I'll be right there.'  Translation: I love 
you, Baby.  Be safe. *  "How you feeling?"

She nodded in the dimness.  "I'm all right."

His fingertips moved ever so tenderly across the sensitive skin 
of her belly, nothing but silk between their flesh.  "How's the 
stomach?" he asked.  "You doing all right with dinner?"

Scully nodded, eyes still closed.  "Better."

"Yeah?"

"Better."

He smoothed his fingers through her hair, spreading the still 
damp ends across her pillowcase.  "Then sleep now."

*Because tomorrow morning, we play roulette with your life.  You 
might want to save your strength--

--A kiss on her cheek and fingers that don't want to let go of 
hers when the priest is crossing the threshold...*

"You, too," was all she could manage.

Scully snuggled closer, lifting her leg over Mulder, her thigh 
resting across his groin.  She was surprised, in the midst of the 
fatigue and memory, as the instant thrill coursed through her 
body.  The mere feel of Mulder's warm cock against the inside of 
her thigh awoke the ever-present desire.  She pressed her own 
groin tight against Mulder's hip.  A soft sigh escaped her lips 
at the friction and contact.

She felt the responding twitch against her thigh.  Mulder's 
fingers massaged her scalp with an added edge beyond the 
tenderness, but he made no move toward more.  He wanted her to 
rest.

She wanted to remember they were alive.

Scully let her tongue snake out to lick at Mulder's neck, tasted 
motel soap.  She nipped lightly at the soft skin and in a moment 
Mulder was turning to meet her mouth.  His kisses were warm, but 
gentle.  Holding back.  She pressed forward, reaching out with 
wordless need.

He let things progress.  He would never push her away.  Not 
Mulder.  At last, he whispered, "Scully.  Are you sure you're up 
to this?"

"I need this," she said, cringing slightly at the raw ache in her 
own voice.

The fact was, she was beyond exhausted.  But her mind refused to 
slow enough for sleep.  Her defenses had fallen with fatigue, and 
she just wanted to be touched, held.  She wanted to drown in 
sensation and feel the concrete security of Mulder's body wrapped 
around hers.  She wanted to feel the blood pumping through her 
own veins; strong, solid, alive.

She sank onto her back, guiding his mouth down to hers.  His lips 
were soft and warm and moved against hers with the same mixture 
of urgency and calm as her own.  This felt too good, could never 
be enough, yet they needed to linger, let every moment last.

Mulder ran his hand through her hair, and his fingers against her 
scalp sent gooseflesh down her back.

Scully could feel his erection hardening fully against her thigh 
as their tongues explored and sucked and tasted.  He couldn't 
deny her.  He needed this as badly as she.

The motel room sheets were rough and starchy on her bare 
shoulders.  But there was an added eroticism to making love to 
Mulder in a motel room.  They were home again.  Back to who they 
had once been, dancing along an invisible line, walls between 
them, her own scantily clad flesh against the motel sheets in an 
achingly empty bed; Mulder close by, but just out of reach.  
Except now his long heat was pressed against the length of her 
skin.  And he was nestling in between her legs as their kisses 
deepened, and the moment felt a little like the conclusion of 
forever.

Scully felt dizzy. Here in a motel room with Mulder.  Stepping 
through time.  A little boy sleeping on the next bed and rings 
around her neck and a world of memories that made her someone she 
had not once been.

She grasped Mulder's hair, holding his mouth tight to hers.  His 
hardness pressed against her thigh, and every bit of clothing 
seemed too much to her.  She wanted all of it off, all of it 
away, wanted nothing but bare flesh on flesh, winding together, 
cocooned beneath the blankets.  Mulder didn't seem to mind.

As much about comfort as it was about desire.  Affirmation of 
life and support and bonds that could not be broken no matter how 
much else got torn away.  Mulder's hands were on her breasts, 
caressing the sides of her ribs, tracing the curves of her waist.  
She shivered beneath the warmth of his touch.  His hands were so 
large against her narrow form.  He had told her once that it 
scared him how tiny her midriff was beneath his fingers.  He saw 
her as something larger, something stronger.  She had grinned and 
told him size wasn't everything.  He'd taken that personally and 
she had only laughed.  If he had any more to offer her, the 
gauzian line between pleasure and pain would swing too far toward 
pain even for her exotic tastes.

She smoothed her hands over the baby soft skin of Mulder's back, 
tracing each muscle she had memorized long ago.  She could detect 
the slightest change; track his workouts, know what muscle groups 
he had been emphasizing, what he had let slide.  She liked the 
sense of ownership in that knowledge, the feeling of belonging.  
Her hand ventured lower, forcing her to shift slightly to reach 
every bit of the landscape of flesh she wanted to devour.  She 
smoothed her palm along the sleeks lines of the runner's muscles 
in Mulder's lower back, his hips, down the curve of his ass.  
Then pulled him in closer, molding him to her.

A soft cry escaped her own lips as the heat of his erection came 
into contact with her groin, and a gentle smile graced Mulder's 
lips.  "See something you like, Scully?" he teased.

She mumbled something, but she had lost command of language, only 
wanted to speak in touch.  Every sense was heightened, every 
motion, every breath he took was erotic.  Headlights flashed 
through the motel curtains from the highway beyond and Mulder's 
dark eyes met hers in the flicker, heavy-lidded with equal 
desire.

"Please, Mulder..." she whispered, bringing her lips onto his 
once again.

The wetness of his kiss melted in her mind into the soft dampness 
spreading between her legs.  She slipped a hand down between 
their bodies and drew her fingertips ever so gently down the 
length of his erection.  She felt the shiver trickle up his 
spine, and as he lowered his weight once again into her waiting 
warmth, the sensation felt so good it tightened her throat.  
Desire.  Need.  Touch.  Relief.

Mulder reached down and drew a single finger along the wet 
smoothness between her folds, slid over her clit.  And she dug 
her nails into his shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut.  "Oh, 
God...Mulder..."  There was a desperation in her tone she once 
would have hidden.

"I'm here," he breathed, deep voice like a caress in the dark.  
His hand moved over her, massaging, working, finding rhythm.  She 
needed this so much it hurt to keep the pace, she struggled to 
slow down and take time for the rise.

*She was alive.  She was okay.  Christopher was okay.  And Mulder 
was here with her, holding her, touching her, giving himself to 
her.*

She didn't hold out long.  Mulder's hand was cupped to her when 
she came, warming her, protecting her, and she drowned in 
wordless sensation.  She pulled Mulder hard against her, needing 
every bit of his skin against hers as the wild ripples of 
pleasure exploded outward through her limbs.  She always came 
harder when she could hold onto him.  Everything that had been 
tight, everything that hurt, everything that wanted and needed 
was set free in that moment.  If only for that moment...

He stroked her hair as she came down.  Nestled his face into her 
shoulder, let her nuzzle against him like a child.  But she 
didn't want to cool down for long.  She wanted him inside her.

"Now," was all she could say.

It was all he needed.

Mulder slid his length inside her, and she could tell from his 
breath that he was halfway there, just listening to her come.  
The synchronicity meant everything.  Shared sensation.  Shared 
pleasure.

His dark form braced above her, a shadow of protection and 
arousal in the darkness.

"Everything, Scully.  Everything..." was all he said.  He drove 
into her, striving for something they both needed.  She let him 
fill her, opened herself to bring him as deep as he would go, 
engulfing him.  So much power.  So much strength.  And he would 
never...never hurt...

"Oh, God, Scully..." the break in his voice brought a throaty cry 
from her own lips and a renewed wave of sensation as his every 
muscle tensed against hers.

He buried his face in her neck as he emptied inside of her.  
Release.

Calm.

Quiet.

His breath warmed her ear.  His weight sheltered her.  
Christopher snuffled softly, shifted beneath his covers.

"It's okay," Scully breathed.  Just enough for his subconscious 
to pick up on the sound of her voice.  His breath slowed and 
deepened.  The little boy sank back into peaceful sleep.

Mulder smoothed fingers through Scully's hair.  He kissed her 
cheek.  "Rest," he said, voice still hoarse from their efforts.  
He shifted to lie beside her, cradling her form with deliberate 
tenderness.

"You, too," she whispered  She drew strength from the heat of his 
skin.

That was all she remembered.  Exhaustion had its way.


*****


Mulder woke to the sound of their alarm clock at just after 7am.  
He opened his eyes, not entirely willing to face his day.  The 
little cocoon of limbo they had built was too comfortable just 
now.  But then he found himself eye level, face to face across 
the narrow space between beds, with the bright blue eyes of a 
perfect little boy.  Christopher was lying quietly awake, waiting 
for morning to bloom.  Mulder couldn't possibly suppress a smile 
as the little boy's lips curled into a grin.  Christopher giggled 
at the response.

"'Morning," Mulder said softly.

"Cheerios!" Christopher yelled out, swinging a small pudgy arm in 
the air.

"Coffee!" Mulder said, imitating the gesture, eliciting more 
giggles.

Scully shifted behind him.  As Mulder rolled, he pulled the 
covers up over her, sheltering her naked body on Christopher's 
behalf.

She hadn't opened her eyes.  Red hair tousled around her face, 
freckles clear in the streaks of morning light, her mouth soft 
with sleep.  And for a moment he could see the child this 
beautiful woman had once been.  The sweet smiling girl he had 
observed in the family albums on her bookshelves.  Her hand 
curled gracefully on the pillow and he reached out impulsively 
and drew a finger down the curve of her palm.  Her sleep-drunk 
fingers curled clumsily around his hand in response.

Mulder pushed a strand of hair back from her forehead.  "Sleep a 
little longer," he said softly.   "I'll get Chris's breakfast."

She murmured a wordless reply.

"Cheerios!" Christopher squealed again.

Scully burrowed deeper into her pillow, and Mulder turned to give 
Christopher a warm smile.  "All right, Little Man.  Let's see if 
we can dig up some Cheerios."


*****


They checked out of the motel and drove to their apartment, 
tasked with finishing up the last of the packing, cleaning out 
the perishables in the refrigerator.

Nothing went as fast and efficiently as they would have liked.  
These moments almost made Scully long for the more controlled 
days when she had been the sole occupant of her apartment, not 
managing three lives and playing mother and career woman all at 
the same time.  Almost.  Mulder kept urging her along, as though 
she were not aware of the urgency with every nerve beneath her 
skin.  They had set a time to meet with his contacts at the 
underground facility, and they had a meeting with the Gunmen 
before that to pick up the credentials of their temporary new 
identities.  Well...not so new for Mulder.  He was merely 
returning to the life he had lived without her.  Back into Mike 
Stephens' skin.  Scully couldn't deny the thought was both odd 
and mildly thrilling for her.  She didn't want to return to 
anything about that time.  And yet...she would be catching a 
glimpse of what Mulder's life had been while he was gone.  
Treading the halls he had frequented, meeting a few of the faces 
he had seen every day.  Her stomach always tightened at the 
thought he had been living out an almost normal everyday life all 
that time.  So close.  Practically under her nose.  While her 
world had shattered and then slowly reconstructed.

This morning she pushed those thoughts securely into their 
customary compartment, forcing her focus onto the last items she 
was gathering in suitcases.

She grabbed two or three more sweaters from Christopher's 
dresser, dropping them into a tote bag.  Autumn might be in full 
sway before they were free to return.  She was snatching the bag 
from the top of the dresser when Mulder swung around the door 
frame, backpack slung over his shoulder.  "Are we about ready?" 
he asked, fingers drumming on the woodwork.  She didn't mind his 
constant prodding, his urging that bordered on nagging.  Because 
he was terrified, plain and simple.  And this was his way of 
being Mulder, of keeping the ground level beneath them. 

"Yeah, this is the last of it.  Why don't you head on down, get 
Christopher settled in the car.  I'll grab a few things from our 
room and lock up."

His nod was terse.  "Okay."  He started to go.  But as she 
brushed past him, set on course for their room, he took a step 
backward and caught her arm with a gentleness that snagged her 
attention.  "Hey," he said softly.

She let go of the momentum for a moment, met his gaze.  "Hmm?"

"You okay?" he asked simply.

Scully nodded, eyebrow lifted.  "I'm fine," she whispered.

Something unreadable flickered across Mulder's dark eyes, but 
Scully held her cool under the deep intensity of his gaze.  He 
drew his teeth over his lower lip and let his fingers slide down 
her arm.  "We'll meet you in the car," he said, and turned his 
back to her as he moved down hall.

"I'll be right down."

She rifled quickly and efficiently through her dresser drawers, 
going on autopilot now.  She heard Mulder gathering their things 
to carry to the car, talking softly to Chris as he guided him 
along into the hallway.  She heard them leave the apartment and 
close the door.  Grabbing a scarf from one drawer, a hair 
fastener from another, she tossed them into the open bag on their 
bed.

She opened her bottom drawer, stooped down and dug to the back 
for one last item she refused to leave behind.  Her touch was 
meticulous as she folded Mulder's Knicks shirt against the flat 
of her stomach.

She was inches from the tote bag, when the carefully folded t-
shirt sloughed silently to the carpet--a firm hand had settled on 
her shoulder.

Scully whirled with a sharp gasp, years of conditioned adrenaline 
coursing through her stomach *Donnie Pfaster Eugene Tooms closet 
air vent lots of blood and a man with his hand in your chest*, 
but somewhere in her rational mind she was thinking Mulder, 
Mulder hadn't left, until--

"Oh, God--"  Barely enough air to form the words, sucking the 
sound into her throat with a harsh rasp.

Face to face.  Hand on her shoulder, another on her elbow.

Blue eyes in the sunlight.

Daniel Waterston.

"Wha--"  She was panting for breath, pulse so loud in her ears, 
sounds in the room came as if through water.

"Be careful, Dana," he said.  "The darkness is returning for 
you."  His voice was real.  Solid.  Gentle.  Firm.  Corporeal.

But before she could draw a coherent word from her throat, he was 
gone.  She was alone in the room, heart pounding so hard the 
edges of her vision blurred into delicate flickers of light.

She felt sick.

"Oh, my God.  Oh my God, oh my God..."  She squeezed her eyes 
tight shut, scrubbed a hand the length of her face.  Opened her 
eyes again to swirls of dust in sunlight.  Every muscle was 
shaking.

Scully grasped blindly at the edge of the bed behind her, lowered 
herself to balance on the edge of the mattress before her knees 
could let go.

"Oh, Jesus.  Oh, my God...what just happened?"  She barely 
recognized her voice.  So short of breath...

She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek and tried to 
breathe.  Her fingers gripped the edge of the mattress until her 
nails were digging into the cloth, and she could still feel her 
husband's hand on her shoulder, hear the depth of emotion in his 
voice.

"Daniel," she breathed, eyes closing as if she could find him in 
the darkness.  *Slow it down, slower breathing...*  "Oh, God..."

She kept her eyes closed, forced a single controlled exhale 
through pursed lips.

She didn't want to move.

Didn't want to think.  Didn't want to breathe.  *What did--*

*What...*


*****


(End Chapter 6.  Continued in Chapter 7....)
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