DISCLAIMER JAZZ: "The X-Files" and its characters are the 
creations and property of the fabled Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen 
Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, using them 
without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. All 
other concepts or ideas herein are mine.
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Through US season 7
ARCHIVE: ONLY ON THE AUTHOR'S OWN WEBSITE UNTIL STORY IS 
COMPLETED. This way I can mess with the early parts as later 
parts develop...
TIMELINE: Though this takes place sometime after "all things", in 
this universe "Requiem" did NOT happen...

SPECIAL THANKS for this chapter go to the lovely Kudra, who was 
kind enough to feed a starving author (literally, not with 
words:)) traveling cross country on a special diet.  Without her 
help, I might never have managed to sustain original thought.

HELPFUL HINT: I have a reputation for obscure references to 
aspects of my own fic that even the most meticulous of readers 
cannot be expected to recall.  This chapter is no exception (and 
nicely timed after a hiatus, no less).  So, this time, I'm going 
to give y'all a heads-up.  One of the significant lines in this 
chapter requires a working knowledge of some of the dialogue in 
Chapter 16a.  So, for those who might want to review, you'll want 
to focus on that very first conversation between Mulder and 
Scully in the street when she has the gun trained on him...:)


"Water's Edge"
by
Elizabeth Rowandale


Chapter 23b:


"This won't work as well as the way it once did, 'cause I want to 
decide between survival and bliss."
			"Precious Illusions" - Alanis Morissette



He had seen her be flirtatiously oral before: caressing a yogurt 
spoon with her tongue, teasing the straw of a lemonade, lolling 
over popcorn in a movie theatre.  But he had never been certain 
of the consciousness of the effort, never found the line between 
the natural sensuality of her manner, and actions aimed in his 
direction.  In any case, the results were formidably distracting.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was as delicious as the food.  
Scully seemed to sink into her surroundings with far more ease 
than he himself could entertain.  Her comfortable elegance exuded 
the same confidence in soft light and silk as her commanding 
nature could in bullpens and Kevlar.  The crystal chandeliers 
played off the white of her skin, the soft music from the slick 
and muted jazz band seemed to accompany her slightly husky 
evening voice.  The carpets were lush, the tablecloths thick.  
There was even a small dance floor near the band.

The restaurant had been Scully's suggestion.  He didn't want to 
ask if she had come here regularly.  With Daniel.

Scully toyed with her Caesar salad, catching a crouton on the end 
prong of her fork, then sliding it off with her teeth.

Mulder feigned deep involvement with his mozzarella sticks and 
tried not to see the gloss on Scully's lipstick shimmer in the 
flattering light.

Two days since they had gone out to dinner--an evening catching 
up as old friends, ex-partners.  Two days later--

An ocean away.

It was easier in the throes of mundane tasks--too easy almost--to 
just be Mulder and Scully again.  A typical day, grabbing dinner 
after work.

But the difference was ever-present; every inadvertent brush of 
skin, every verbal exchange eliciting an unprecedentedly intimate 
response.  The intimacy was sudden and beautiful and thrilling.  
An almost palpable entity, companion to them for the night.  He 
was afraid if he closed his eyes, it would stop.

Mulder lifted his gaze from his mozzarella sticks to find Scully 
watching him with an air of quiet amusement, the characteristic 
tell-tale twitch of a smile hanging at the corners of her mouth.  
He paused, cheese stick halfway to his mouth.  "What?"

She fell into a close-lipped smile.  "Nothing.  You're just still 
so... Mulder."

His marinara sauce dripped on his bread roll.  "Is that a good 
thing?"

Scully took another bite of salad.  She nodded.  "Yeah.  It's a 
good thing."

She went back to stirring her salad, but he could tell she was 
still following a train of thought.
 
He waited.

Scully tilted her head, earrings swinging, brushing the base of 
her jaw.  The tiny, shallow chicken pox scar on her right cheek 
bone was still there.  He hadn't realized how much he had missed 
that scar.  "It's just that it's been so long.  And it's as 
if...as if you stayed somewhere we used to be.  On hold, almost.  
And you came back as so much the person you were when you left.  
Which is not a bad thing at all, it's just that while you were 
gone....*my* life turned upside down and inside out, and--"

"And what?"

"And I'm *not* the person I was when you left.  How could I be?  
I've been married.  I've been widowed.  I have a son.  My 
relationships with my mother and brothers have shifted--for the 
better, I think, but different all the same.  I became part of a 
new family through my husband, a family I still have ties with.  
I left my job, the one constant, the one factor I was certain of 
for so long, that defined my sense of purpose and worth."

"The thing you put your back up against."

"Exactly."

"So....you think this is a problem?"

Scully met his gaze head on, blue eyes penetrating his defenses 
like an oar through water.  The jazz band faded to silence and 
set down their instruments for a break.  "If you're asking me if 
the way I feel about you has changed," she said clearly, "the 
answer is no.  I want to be at this dinner tonight as much as I 
ever have.  The question, I guess, is...whether it's a problem 
for you."

His eyebrows lifted as the shock coursed through his system.  
"Wait, you're worried that I won't be as attracted to who you are 
now?  Are you serious?"

"Actually, Mulder, I'm pretty damn serious, yeah."  Her 
fingernails drummed lightly on the edge of the linen placemat.

"Scully.  All right--"

"Mulder, don't brush past this, it's a legitimate--"

"No, Scully, I'm not.  Just--listen to me.  Think about something 
for me for a minute, okay?  I want you to think about the first 
day you walked into my office at the Bureau.  Think about what 
you wanted, why you were there, what mattered to you in those 
days.  What you wore, how you talked, what movies you watched.  
You there?"

Her eyes narrowed; she was cautiously taking the ride with him.  
"Okay."

"Okay, now think about the fourth year we were together.  About 
Leonard Betts and his re-grown head, or the poor hapless victims 
of Eddie Van Blundht or John Lee Roche and his damn cloth hearts.  
Think about who you were then, and what you cared about and how 
you looked at the world."

She was sinking deeper into thought, getting caught in his game.  
"Okay."

"Different?"

"180 degrees."

"Okay, now think about our seventh year.  About the genie of the 
ages we met and backwoods Tennessee and Rev. O'Connor and his 
snakes and the super-speed teens of Pittsfield, Virginia.  Think 
about who you were then, and your ideas about the world and where 
you came from and where you were going.  Another jump?"

She nodded.

"Now think about this.  There wasn't a day on that path when you 
weren't the most important person in the world to me.  Scully, 
life is change.  It's growing and learning and shifting.  And, 
yes, the more eventful your life the deeper you look and the 
faster you learn and change and grow.  But who you are, *who* is 
making that journey; that is what ultimately matters.  I want to 
know what you've been through while I was gone, I want to know 
what you've learned and how you feel and what has changed.  I 
want you to make me part of that journey, but, Scully...you're 
still Scully.  You've just grown further into the life you came 
to this planet to lead."

Scully held his gaze for a long, intense moment.  The hair on the 
back of his neck rose beneath the vibrations of her scrutiny.  He 
was about to step out for air lest he pass out under pressure, 
when Scully said simply, "Jesus, Mulder.  You should come up from 
the basement more often.  Because when you do apply your mind to 
things less than alien...it works rather amazingly well."

Mulder smiled.  Full watt.  Nothing felt better than a compliment 
from Scully.  Save, perhaps, for the slight softness around her 
eyes that told him his words had touched her.  "I have my 
moments.  So start filling me in."

Their main courses arrived, and for a while the conversation 
turned to Pasta Primavera and Eggplant Parmigiana.  But as the 
feeding frenzy slowed, their words grew deeper; drifting to 
notions of careers, and family, and the ultimate challenge of 
becoming a parent.

Mulder leaned forward, enthralled, certain Scully would stop 
talking at any moment, and he would be closed outside again.  He 
didn't want to miss a word.

"I didn't know how much would change how fast," she continued, 
"having a child.  Things I never thought I wanted, things I 
always considered to be for other people...are suddenly things I 
care about.  Parts of life I used to think were cliche or 
mundane, suddenly seem so vital and....fulfilling.  It just...it 
changes the filter through which you view everything."  She was 
chewing slowly, working through her thoughts as she worked the 
muscles of her jaw.

Mulder nodded, soaking in every nuance of gesture, every choice 
of phrase.  "I can only imagine," he said softly.  Scully 
responded to intimacy in his voice.  He could use that to pull 
her into his sway.  He hated that he had employed that knowledge 
to his advantage in the past, however noble his larger 
intentions.  "Tell me.  What kinds of things do you want?"

She breathed out heavily through her nose.  She swallowed a bite.  
"It's hard to describe, I--simple things, family things, like," 
she paused, tilting her fork against the side of her plate.  Her 
left eyelid sank, fluttered.  "Missy.  I mean, I missed her 
before, of course, but from the moment I brought Christopher 
home, I've wanted her here to see my son...so badly.  I want him 
to be her nephew, I want him to grow up with a crazy quirky aunt 
with crystals all over her house who loves him like her own son."

"Of course you do.  I'm so sorry."

"And my father, of course, but that's...I mean, I was one of the 
younger children in the family, I always knew I would lose my 
father before my kids were grown."

He smiled wistfully.  Scully pinned him with her gaze, eyebrow 
raised.  "What?"

"Nothing, you just...you say that like you always meant to have 
kids."

Her brow drew tense for a moment, pensive.  She picked up her 
fork again, though she made no move toward eating.  "Yeah.  I 
suppose I did always mean to have children.  Time just...moved 
faster than I thought it would."

"Doesn't it always?"

She gave a dry laugh, but didn't reply.

They worked through the last of their food.

"What about you, Mulder?" she asked.

"Kids?"

"Yeah.  Did you plan to have children?"

Mulder propped his elbows on the edge of the table, giving his 
reply proper consideration.  Scully waited with distinct 
interest.  "I think I always meant to, yes.  But my life went 
such a different direction than I had ever intended.  I think I 
always felt I needed to work through my own stuff before I 
inflicted it upon an innocent child.  Didn't want to be my 
father, I suppose."  He shrugged, gazing into the depths of his 
water glass.

"You're never like your father."

Mulder let that soak in.

"What was that like?" he asked, finally.  But he hadn't clued her 
in on his train of thought.

"I'm sorry?  What was what like?"

"That whole...being married thing."

Scully half-smiled.  "A lot more work than it looks like."

"I can imagine.  You've been in sole charge of your own life for 
so long.  And determinedly so, I might add.  It must have been 
hard to learn to let someone share the reins."

"To say the least."

"What was good about it?"

"A lot of things were good about it, or I wouldn't have--"

"No, I mean, what one thing.  What...one little thing surprised 
you or meant something to you, that you loved about being 
married.  That you missed when it was gone.  I mean...for me, I 
think it would be the simple fact of someone being in the house 
when I came home.  As much as I enjoy living alone, I just...I've 
just never liked coming home to an empty apartment.  Never liked 
it when I was a kid, either.  I don't mind being alone for the 
rest of the evening, but it's just that first five minutes.  
Opening the door to nothing but stale air and quiet.  I always 
wanted a dog to at least have the dog to greet me, you know?  
Fish are just a bit too British in their enthusiasm.  But as you 
oh so cruelly discovered, our job just didn't mesh with the 
canine routine."

"That it did not.  I never knew that about you, Mulder."

"It wasn't all dogs I was annoyed by, Scully, it was just your 
choice of--"

"That you didn't like going home to an empty house."

"Ah.  Well, maybe that's why I'm telling you now."  He paused, 
and they let his words hover between them.  He didn't have a clue 
what Scully was thinking.

"What's your thing?" he asked.

Scully drew a breath, started to speak, then dropped her gaze, 
hedged away.

"Scully?"

"I don't know.  I mean, I do, but it's not something I want 
to...Mmmmm."  She sighed heavily, slipped her tongue over the 
corner of her mouth.

He could see the tension in her midriff, the cinching of her 
stomach muscles.

He watched her with narrowed gaze for a half a beat, almost 
regretful, then said, "Tell me about work.  What's the latest 
word on Maley from the--"

Scully pushed back her chair so hard he dropped his fork.  "No."

"No?  Scu--"

"No.  I can't go back to--I can't do this..."

"Do what?  Wait...  I don't understand."

"This, this...dance.  I can't go back to the old patterns, can't 
delete things, skip things..."  She was picking up her purse.

"Scully, WHOA.  I just didn't want to pressure you.  You don't 
have to say anything you don't want to.  You don't--"

"Mulder, how can we expect to change so many years?  I'm not 
accusing you of anything, it's not you, it's us, it's me.  I mean 
it's been so long that we've stuck to these engrained patterns of 
behavior.  To rules and lines we drew governing what we were 
supposed to say, what we had silently agreed to ignore...."

"But we're changing that, aren't we?  We're entering new 
territory here, yes, but isn't that..." he trailed off, searched 
her pained gaze.  "What are you hoping for, here?  What do you 
*want*, Scully?" 

Scully caught on his words, drew back and let go of her purse.  
"What do you want, Dana?" she whispered on a shallow exhale.  She 
wasn't speaking to him.  And clearly, the words held some deep 
irony he was not equipped to understand.  Mulder watched with 
silent longing for comprehension.

Scully's breath was quick.  The soft skin at the hollow of her 
throat quivered over taut muscles.  Her eyes hovered at half 
mast.  She was so...beautiful.

Her throaty voice weighted her careful words.  "I want someone 
who follows me out of the theatre when Beth dies."

Mulder's chest contracted, and for a quick moment he was back in 
that small town, images of nineteenth century New England 
flickering above him, a sick knot forming in his stomach; frozen 
to his seat, unable to crack the shell of silence.

"I never did that before, because you never *wanted* it before.  
At least not from me."

Scully nodded, gaze on her hand beside her plate.  "Well now...I 
do.  And I want someone who would expect the same from me."  Her 
words were hushed but strong.

"I've gotcha covered."

She swallowed hard. 

The music played softly again.  Their food was all but finished.

"I miss being held," she said.  "Anytime.  I mean...anytime you 
really need that physical presence, there's always someone there, 
when you're married.  Always someone there in the middle of the 
night.  At the end of the day...and on the days that just...  I 
don't claim that I've had a particularly hard life, but during my 
years on the X-Files, I went through...a lot more than many of my 
peers--"

"You went through hell."

"--and for so much of that time I was alone.  The longest stretch 
in my life, really.  The nature of our work precluded close 
friendships outside the X-Files.  Even family couldn't share what 
we were dealing with.  And then these past two years....  Well, 
let's just say it took a long time and a lot of pain inflicted on 
the opposite party to learn how to let someone be there.  Even on 
my limited terms.  And then after all that...to have it 
vanish..."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing for my life.  I want my life."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"I know.  Neither did I."

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want dessert?"

"Do you know how many calories were in that Eggplant Parmig--"

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want dessert?"

"Cheesecake?"

"Couldn't have chosen it better myself."


*****


They shared a single piece of cheesecake.  Then they shared 
another.

Scully's earrings sparkled in the gentle light.  Her scent 
reminded him of everything he still valued in himself.

He held out his hand.  "Scully?"

"What?"

"Would you dance with me?"

The music was soothing, melodious.  Scully stepped up close to 
him.  Closer.  The low back of her dress brought his hand into 
easy contact with the cool of her skin.  And he felt the 
vibrations of response in her.  She moved with such ease and 
grace in his arms.  She matched his steps beat for beat.  They 
had always moved well together.  You go left, I'll go right.  
Swing your weapon high, I'll swing mine low.  Grab his wrists, 
I've got his hips.  I'll lead, you follow.  I have your back.  
One, two, three.  Follow me, Scully.  Don't ever let go.

He felt the shift, felt her nails digging hard into his shoulder 
as her touch moved from gentle closeness to possessive need.  He 
held her closer, leaning his mouth down close to her ear.  "Hey.  
What is it?"

She held on tighter.  "You're here," she whispered, tears hazing 
her voice.  "You're really here.  Mulder.  I missed you so much."

He wanted to surround her, drown her in his embrace and never be 
away from her again.  "Scully, you're all I thought about."

Her soft hand was so slender in his.  So delicate for a hand he 
knew held such power.  The power of life and death--around a 
scalpel or around a gun.  He tucked their interlocked hands in 
the hollow of his shoulder.

He was entranced by the curve of the small of her back, the 
gentle slope to her hips.  He couldn't imagine there were other 
women in the room, in the world.

"This is so terrifying," Scully breathed against his ear.

"What is?" the urgency in his own voice intensified his 
empathetic ache.

"Opening up to you."

She was trembling.

He held steadfast.  "Scully.  I'm here.  It's me.  Just me."

She nuzzled her cheek against his ear.  "I know."

They kept dancing.  He never wanted the music to stop.


*****

End Chapter 23b (Continued in 24a...)
Feedback is just so very cool -- bstrbabs@gmail.com