From: "Kristel S. Johns" <kjohns@mail2.alliance.net>
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:07:05 +0000
Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 10a


NIGHTSCAPE
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns

Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to
the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net

The characters and situations of the X-Files television program
are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without
permission.  No infringement is intended.  I just want to tell a
story.

Part Ten (1/2)

*  *  *  *  *

An hour after Mulder's perplexing call to Jennifer Mossey, 
Scully's doctor came in to check on her.

Mulder was sitting in a chair next to her bedside, his long legs
stretched out in front of him, watching her possessively.  Just
watching.  His eyes devoured the sight of her, unable to believe that
she had been returned to him, was here before him safe and sound. 
Tearing his eyes off her to look at the doctor was the hardest thing
he had ever had to do in his life.

"Doctor, could I speak with you a moment outside, please?"  
he asked softly, so as not to disturb Scully's sleep.

The doctor nodded silently and they made their way out into 
the corridor, shutting the door behind them.  Mulder fidgeted 
nervously.

"Um, doctor--I wanted to know if--Well, over the course of 
her work, my wife has been exposed to some things that we 
feared might cause complications in any pregnancy she might 
attempt.  Bio-hazards and such that I'm really not a liberty to 
discuss with you, but suffice it to say that the uncertainties 
were enough that we decided not to try to have children of our 
own.  What I need to know is if this pregnancy--this baby--
would have been unaffected had the circumstances been 
different.  If it weren't for the physical trauma and the heat-
stroke, would the pregnancy, the baby, have been normal--
viable."

"What precisely are you looking for, Mr. Mulder?"

"I don't know.  Any sort of out of the ordinary defects in the 
fetus, I guess.  Any number of things."

"It is standard to perform tests on the fetal sack and other 
material shed to see if we can determine the cause of the 
miscarriage.  In your wife's situation, there could have been any
number of very obvious reasons for a spontaneous abortion.  But in the
course of the tests, I'll make sure that we look for anything--out of
the ordinary."

"Thank you, doctor."

She nodded.  "Now, barring any unforeseen difficulties, she 
should be able to leave tomorrow afternoon.  Has anyone gone 
over what you can expect after you get home?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Well, we always recommend some sort of therapy or support 
group for women who have suffered a loss like this.  Actually, 
we recommend it for the fathers as well.  You have 
experienced a great loss, also.  It is best to wait at least four
months before trying to conceive again.  Any less than that, and the
risk for another miscarriage goes up.  As far as your wife's health is
concerned, she needs to give her body time to recuperate from both the
miscarriage and the heat- stroke.  No strenuous activity for a couple
a weeks.  See that she gets a much rest as she can.  She may return to
work in a few days if she wishes to, though I would recommend that she
wait a week at least.  Physically, there is nothing to keep her from
resuming normal activity, in moderation.  Emotionally, well, that's
something that you have no way of predicting.  You'll want to watch
out for signs of depression.  Besides the emotional turmoil she's
going to go through, her hormones are going to go a little crazy for a
while, so her moods may be erratic.  You may see the effects of this
as well."

Mulder nodded silently.  "I understand, doctor.  Thank you."

"You're welcome.  I'll be back about noon tomorrow to check 
on her and if all goes well, she should be able to leave.  Good-
night."

*  *  *  *  *

Mulder slept in the chair that night, Scully's hand clasped 
tightly in his.  Every hour or so, he would wake up just to 
reassure himself that she was actually there.  When the first 
light of dawn cracked the horizon, he was awake for good, a 
crick-from-hell knotting his neck.  He sat by her side, waiting 
for her eyes to open.

A nurse came in to check Scully's vitals, and it was that activity
that woke her.  She stared around, a confused frown on her face for a
while, and then she met his eyes.  He saw relief on her face and
wondered if she had thought at first that she had imagined being found
yesterday.

"Good morning," he smiled at her gently, giving her fingers a 
reassuring squeeze.

"Good morning," she replied.  The nurse released her other 
arm and was about to leave the room when Scully stopped her.  
"Excuse me, would it be all right if I took a shower?"

"You can't really shower with the IV.  I can bring you a tub to 
wash up with." The nurse offered.

Mulder felt Scully shudder.  "No--no buckets.  Look, I have 
been six weeks without running water.  I need a shower, 
please."

Mulder began to smile.  This was the Scully he knew--her 
meticulous cleanliness demanding satisfaction.  The nurse 
frowned.  "Well, it's not something we normally do, but we can 
cap off the IV and cover it up for you to shower.  If you don't 
mind, though, your husband should stay with you, in case 
anything happens while you're in there."

Mulder met Scully's eyes and gave her a lecherous waggle of 
his eyebrows.  He was rewarded for his efforts by the slight 
curve of her lips.  "That's fine," she told the nurse.  "Is there
anyplace I can get a hold of some shampoo?"

The nurse smiled.  "Sure.  I'll get you some.  I'll be right back."

She bustled out the door, leaving Mulder and Scully alone.

"How are you?" he asked gently.

She thought for a moment.  "I'm fine," she smiled gently at 
him, and he frowned.

"The truth, please?" he demanded softly.

"Well, physically, I am fine.  Just a little uncomfortable.  I just
want a shower desperately."

"Back to the subject, please?"

"Other than physically--I don't know yet, Mulder.  I feel 
numb."

He was about to reply when the nurse entered again with 
shampoo and towels for Scully.

"The doctor says you should be hydrated enough to not require 
the IV anymore, so we'll just take it out altogether," she 
informed Scully, going efficiently about her business.  The 
needle was removed from Scully's arm and the puncture site 
covered with a sterile bandage.  She gave Scully a clean 
hospital gown and left.

When she was gone, Mulder moved to sit on the edge of the 
bed and took Scully in his arms.  "I'm sorry I didn't get the 
chance to love the baby the way that you did, Scully.  If you 
changed your mind about our decision, we can try again."

"No.  Nothing has changed," she answered.  "All the reasons 
why we decided not to try to have children in the first place are
still there.  Besides, I don't think I could handle going through this
again."

Frowning, Mulder considered Scully's words.  There was a 
hopelessness to them he had never heard before.  It was as 
though she had given up all hope of ever having children.  He 
stopped himself from thinking about it.  There was time for 
them to work that out later.  For now, they just needed to heal.

Scully struggled to sit up.  "Help me into the shower?"

Mulder gave her a harmless leer.  "Not sure I'm that strong, 
Scully.  I have been six weeks without my wife, you know."

He was rewarded by another smile, and it made him feel better.  
So long as she was still able to feel anything, happiness, 
sadness, it didn't matter what, she would be okay.  It was her 
withdrawing from him that he was frightened of.

The truth behind the utter lack of sincerity in his lecherous 
comment amused Scully, bringing a smile she really didn't want 
to feel but was helpless to control nonetheless to her lips.  If the
circumstances  had been different, if she had been unharmed by her
captivity, he might have greeted her by dragging her down to the floor
and making love to her until they couldn't move.  It was the sort of
thing Mulder might do-- unable to express in words his relief, he
would celebrate her being alive and healthy with a powerful physical
display.  Now that she had been injured, though, she had the feeling
that if she ever wanted Mulder to touch her again as though she
weren't made of priceless china, she would have to make the first
move.

"I have faith in you," she replied, smiling into his eyes.  She 
tried to sit up again and groaned.

"What's wrong?"  Mulder asked, instantly alert.

"I'm SO sore..." she moaned, feeling all the demons of hell 
ripping at her abdominal muscles.  All her energy seemed to be 
exhausted just trying to coax her stiffened muscles to move.  It was
agony.

"Come on--I'll help you." He got off the bed and lifted her into his
arms.  "Ooh, twice in two days I get to carry you without you
complaining.  I could get used to this," he whispered in her ear,
dragging another reluctant smile across her face.  He carried her into
the bathroom and set her on her feet.  He held her close for a moment
to make sure that she had her balance, then released her.  She looked
at him gratefully.

Scully found herself amazed by her ability to smile at all when 
she was certain her heart was going to shatter in a million 
pieces at any given moment.  How could she find joy or humor 
in anything when she was so disconsolately sad?

But then, Mulder's quirky humor had always been able to do 
that to her.   He seemed to make it his life's work to make her 
laugh.

Mulder gently helped her out of her hospital gown and into the 
shower.  He sat on the closed toilet while she bathed.  Inside 
the shower, Scully scrubbed her skin hard, removing the weeks 
of grime she felt covered her, and she shampooed her hair three 
times.  When she emerged smelling like strawberries from the 
shampoo she had been given, Mulder tenderly wrapped a towel 
around her.  She felt much better after the shower, having 
gained an energy that hours of bed-rest could not have given 
her.  It felt so wonderful just to be CLEAN...

Mulder handed her a brush taken from her purse, which 
Skinner had retrieved from the evidence taken in the 
underground cell and watched her while she sat on the bed 
working the tangles out of her hair.  She allowed him to help 
her into a clean gown and then she made her announcement.

"I want to go see Morris."

"What?" Mulder looked at her as though she had just 
announced that she would like to spend another six weeks in 
the underground cell.

"I want to go see Morris," she repeated forcefully, bracing 
herself for an argument.  "There are some things I have to 
know."

She met Mulder's eyes evenly.  He wasn't going to win this 
one.

He didn't even try.  "I'll talk to the doctor, find out where he is
and if we can see him."

Just then, the door opened and Maggie Scully entered with 
Skinner, followed by Caroline Mulder and, to Scully's surprise, 
Samantha and her husband Preston.

Samantha greeted Mulder while Scully and her mother 
embraced, a long tender moment filled with tears.  They pulled 
apart and Scully wiped her eyes, greeting Skinner and then 
Mrs. Mulder.  Then Samantha sat down beside her and gave 
her a cheerful smile while Mulder asked, "I thought you were 
in Boston."

"We were," Samantha replied while she embraced Scully.  "We 
decided we couldn't back out on this little family reunion 
though."

Scully looked around at all of them.  Yes, this felt right, she 
thought.  A family reunion.  She was surrounded by family 
now, from her mother, whom had always been there, to 
Preston, whom had just become a brother by marriage.  Her 
loved ones were with her, and everything was going to be fine.

She gave them all a trembling smile and realized that the pain 
was beginning to fade, if only a little.

*  *  *  *  *


===========================================================================

From: "Kristel S. Johns" <kjohns@mail2.alliance.net>
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:30 +0000
Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 10b


NIGHTSCAPE
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns

Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to
the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net

The characters and situations of the X-Files television program
are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without
permission.  No infringement is intended.  I just want to tell a
story.

Part Ten (2/2)

*  *  *  *  *

Scully sat in her wheelchair outside the door.  Behind it lay 
Steven Morris.  A local police officer stood off to one side, as
Morris was technically in police custody.  Scully drew in a deep
breath and looked back at Mulder, who was pushing her wheelchair.  He
reached out and squeezed her shoulder.  Maggie Scully had brought them
each a clean change of clothing, and Mulder had availed himself of the
shower in her room, throwing away the blood-stained shirt he had been
wearing.  Now they were both looking somewhat respectable, though
their eyes looked haunted still, and they appeared to be vastly
different from the refugees whom had entered the hospital last night
on the ambulance.  With the improvement in her appearance, Scully's
confidence began to grow.  She could do this.

Morris' doctor had also accompanied them, saying that he had 
to check on Morris anyway.  Morris was engaging in 
schizophrenic behavior, again reminiscent of the test pilots at 
Ellen's Air Force Base they had met.  At times, he seemed 
vague and uncomprehending as a child, at other times he 
sobbed with regret, and at others, he grew violent and cursed 
that he had been betrayed, that his work wasn't done yet.  It 
was rapidly becoming the opinion of everyone involved that 
Morris was certifiable.  No one knew that Scully had a 
different opinion.

Morris had been sedated after his last violent episode, and was 
still unconscious when they entered the room.  His face and 
shoulders had been bandaged, and regret scratched at the back 
of Scully's mind.  She stubbornly denied it.  She had done what 
she had to do, and he had still cost her her baby.  She wouldn't
regret anything after that.

"Doctor," Scully said after staring at Morris for a long 
moment.  "I would like to you please remove the bandages 
from the back of his neck."  She lifted her own hair.  "I need to know
if he has a mark, a scar--like this."

Mulder looked down at her in alarm.  "Scully, you don't 
actually think..."

"Yes.  Yes I do.  It's the only thing that makes sense to me--
how he knew so much, and why he seemed so at odds with 
what he was doing."

Mulder sighed.  "Skinner and I thought the same things 
ourselves, but God I hope you're wrong on this one."

She grimaced.  "I hope I am, too."

The doctor finished inspecting the back of Morris' neck and 
looked up at Scully with wide eyes.  "He does have a scar on 
the back of his neck."

She closed her eyes a moment, then looked up again with a 
pained frown.  "In the incision, in the fleshy part of the neck, you
will find a small chip--like this," she held out her own implant.  "If
you remove it, you may find his behavior will stabilize."

"What is it?"  the doctor asked in wonder.

"We're not at liberty to discuss that.  Just please remove the 
implant and when you have done so, give it to the local police 
to hold as evidence for his trial, all right?"

The doctor nodded and Mulder wheeled Scully out of the 
room.

Instead of returning to her room, they went to the lobby where 
their families waited for them.  They were going home.

*  *  *  *  *

They didn't talk on the trip back about finding the proof that 
Morris had been an abductee.  With their family present, 
instead, they sought happier venues of conversation.  It was a 
two hour trip home, and Scully had tears of relief in her eyes 
when Mulder helped her through the door of the apartment.  
Pizza was ordered for everyone, and for the first time in six 
weeks, Mulder and Scully were able to laugh and smile
freely.  Everyone, especially Samantha, seemed determined to 
keep the mood light.  It was hard pretending, and Scully was 
grateful when Mulder gently maneuvered the loving loved ones 
out the door at an early hour.  She closed her eyes and sighed 
with relief, leaning her head back against the arm of the sofa, 
where Mulder had her safely ensconced with a lap throw across 
her legs despite the fact that the air conditioner was working at full
to combat the heat outside.  Darkness was beginning to fall beyond the
windows.

"Hey," Mulder knelt by her side.  "You ready for bed?"

"Not yet," she murmured.  "Right now I'm just enjoying being 
home."

Mulder fell silent, studying the fringe on the blanket across her
legs.  Finally she sighed and looked at him.

"Well?"

"Well what, Scully?"  The fear in his eyes chilled her when he 
met her gaze.  "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  You're the one always spouting 
conspiracy theories.  What do you say when you find out my 
apparently random kidnapping was quite possibly deliberately 
engineered?"

Mulder groaned and looked away.

"Tell me it's just chance, Mulder.  Tell me Morris wasn't truly 
as receptive to suggestion as he seemed.  Tell me the implants 
can't actually be used for mind control.  Tell me I was 
imagining things when I heard him say, quite specifically, that 
*I* had to be destroyed.  Tell me it's a coincidence, Mulder, 
and I'll believe you."

He didn't answer, didn't look at her, and her heart fell.

"They killed our baby, Mulder," she whispered, dashing tears 
from her eyes with trembling fingers.  "The bastards killed our 
baby to protect their dirty little secrets."

"We don't know that, Scully--"

"Don't we?"  She looked at him with arched brows, the pain on 
his beloved face torturing her heart.  He buried face in his 
hands and she resolutely pulled them away and held them in her 
strong grasp.

"I thought I was the paranoid one," he muttered in a fragile 
effort at levity.

She gave him back his own response.  "It's not paranoia if they 
really are out to get you."

"You honestly believe that you were the target here?"

"I believe that *we* were the targets.  They thought to kill me:  a;
because I know too much, and b; because it would cripple you."

She saw tears in Mulder's eyes.  "I should never have let you 
get as involved as I did, Scully," he whispered wretchedly.

"You listen to me, Fox Mulder," she said sternly.  "There was 
nothing you could have done or hoped to do to keep me from 
following you to hell and back.  I would have gone anywhere, 
done anything to be with you, whether you wanted me there or 
not.  So don't you dare try to blame yourself, and don't you 
even think about trying to push me away in some twisted 
attempt to protect me.  It's gone too far for that anyway.  
We're safer together than apart."

"What are we going to do, Scully?" he asked miserably, raising 
himself to her level so that he could pull her into his arms and hold
her there.

Scully drew comfort from his nearness.  "I want justice, 
Mulder.  For me, for you, for your dad, for Missy--and for our 
baby.  I don't know if I will ever have peace until we make 
them face up to every last evil that they have committed, until I know
what was done to me in that train car, and what they were trying to
hide when they shot Missy in my place.  I want the world to know,
Mulder, what sort of monsters in positions of power toy with people's
lives and get away with it day after day.  I want justice, Mulder, for
every last person they have hurt."

"Do you have any idea what it is that you're asking?" he asked 
as she looked into his eyes and wiped the tears off his cheeks.  "The
danger of what you're proposing?  But if justice is what you need,
we'll find it."

She pulled him close again, aware that she too was trembling.  
She buried her face in his neck, wetting his shirt collar with her
tears.  She held on to him for dear life.  He drew back and looked at
her.

"Hey, it's going to be all right," he whispered, kissing the wet
trails on her cheeks.  They were not kisses of passion, but kisses of
comfort.

She shook her head.  "I'm experiencing your old friend guilt, 
Mulder."

"Why?"

"Because I should have seen this coming.  A long time ago, I 
should have known that it wasn't over.  I let down my guard.  I 
started to trust again.  That cost us our baby--"

"Hey, don't even think that!  There was nothing either of us 
could have done.  Trust me--I've already been over that, again 
and again."

"I know, Mulder.  Rationally, I know, but sometimes it hurts 
so badly--"

"Let it go for now.  Get better and we'll deal with it later."

She nodded, sniffling like a little girl.  He drew back and lifted her
from the sofa.

"I can walk, Mulder," she said in her best I'm-trying-to-remain-
dignified voice.

"Sure you can," he answered, moving towards the bedroom.  
"But I've gotten spoiled to carrying you around these past few 
days.  Besides, you can't walk very fast, and I really would like to
make it to bed before dawn."

She gave him her patented Scully look.

"Okay, will you buy the excuse that I can't believe that you're 
real and I'm afraid that if I let you stray farther than arm's 
length, I'm going to lose you again?"

She nodded.  "That I'll believe."

He set her gently upon the bed and hauled her favorite 
nightshirt out of a drawer.  She had had it since medical school, and
it was worn and threadbare in places, but soft as butter to the touch.
 She looked at it like it was a long lost lover, then glanced at
Mulder gratefully.  "You would not believe how I have missed this
shirt," she said.

"What?  You're wardrobe had been lacking lately?"

"One thing is certain, I may never be able to look at a set of 
scrubs the same way again," she muttered, shrugging out of her 
clothing and letting the nightshirt slide down over her body.  
She sighed and lay back on the bed.

Mulder stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed 
beside her.  He turned off the light and slipped his arms around her
from behind, spooning his body against hers.  They lay silent for some
time, and slowly began to drift off to sleep.

"You sure you're not going to miss sleeping on the sofa?" she 
murmured drowsily.

He hummed in response, too sleepy to respond.  Then his eyes 
opened.  "Wait a minute--How'd you know I slept on the 
sofa?"

*  *  *  *  *

End of Part Ten


===========================================================================

From: "Kristel S. Johns" <kjohns@mail2.alliance.net>
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:26 +0000
Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 11a


NIGHTSCAPE
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns

Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to
the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net

The characters and situations of the X-Files television program
are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without
permission.  No infringement is intended.  I just want to tell a
story.

Part Eleven (1/2)

*  *  *  *  *

When Scully opened her eyes Friday morning, she found 
Mulder gone.  Lying on the pillow next to her head were two
glossy strips of paper.  She picked them up and looked at
them closely.

Tickets to the Redskins versus Cowboys game at RFK Stadium
this season.  She smiled.  Last time, Mulder had welcomed her 
back with a video.  This time, he was going to take her there.
It was his way of saying, "Welcome home.  I never doubted
you would return."

She yawned and stretched, gingerly flexing each muscle group 
as she moved for twinges of pain.  She was still sore, she 
discovered, but she felt better than she had yesterday.  Sitting up,
however, was still a task involving a good deal of effort, but she
accomplished it stoically.  The clock revealed that it was past nine,
hours after she normally arose.

She heard the sound of running water in the bathroom and 
went to investigate.  There she found Mulder, dressed in shorts 
and a T-shirt, sitting on his haunches by the side of the tub, 
running it full of water.  He glanced up at her, startled.

"Oh, you're up.  I was just coming to wake you."  He stood 
and wiped his hands on his shorts.  "Happy anniversary."

Suddenly, she understood the tickets on her pillow.  "Oh, 
my God, I can't believe I forgot."

He shrugged with a wry smile.  "You've had a lot on your 
mind."

She grimaced, angry with herself.  "But still--"

"It's okay, Scully.  At least we're together for it.  That's more than
I had hoped for on Monday."  He took her by the hands and drew her
into the bathroom.  "I drew that bubble bath I promised you six weeks
ago."

She looked at the tub with a frown, feeling for the first time in a
year uncomfortable at the sight.  Once, bubble baths had been the joy
of her existence, back when she had worked 12 to 16 hour days with
Mulder on the X-Files and then come home to an empty apartment and no
one to comfort her.  Then, Donnie Pfaster had happened, and she had
not been able to look at a bathtub full of bubbles the same way again.
 She began to exclusively shower, and it wasn't until the second day
of their  marriage, when Mulder had invited her for a co-nuptual soak,
that he had learned about her problem.  Then, Mulder the Psychologist
took over and decided that she had to be "reconditioned" towards
bubble baths.  He insisted that they bathe together regularly until
she once again began to equate a tub full of froth with pleasure.  He
had joked that these interludes gave him another excuse to see her
naked and wet, but she had understood his reasoning.  He did not want
her to associate anything that they might share together in love with
the nightmares of the past.

This was the first time since then that she had viewed a bathtub full
of bubbles with trepidation.  It was a silly thing, really, she
thought, for a grown woman to be unnerved by such a harmless sight. 
Except that it hadn't always been harmless-- Donnie Pfaster had
intended her great harm.

Stop it!  She commanded herself and by dint of will stopped 
the trembling in her limbs, praying that Mulder hadn't seen.

"Scully?"

Her head snapped up.  "What?"

"You zoned out for a moment.  Are you okay?"  His voice was 
tender with concern.

He was trying so hard to make this a pleasant day for her.  
How could she disappoint him by rejecting his offering?

"Sure.  I'm fine.  A bath sounds wonderful."  She pulled from 
him and kissed him gently on the cheek.  She began to lift the 
hem of her long nightshirt, and then she paused, her arms 
crossed protectively in front of her.  Her eyes darted nervously
toward Mulder, who had a perplexed frown on his face.  Scully gnawed
on her bottom lip.

His eyes widened with hurt surprise, and Scully felt the pain in that
expression like physical blow.  She watched him struggle with words
for a moment, and then he chucked a thumb over his shoulder toward the
kitchen.

"I--uh--I'll just go make breakfast while you enjoy your bath."  He
backed out the door and had disappeared beyond the wall when Scully
called out to him.

"Mulder, stop.  Wait.  Come back here."

He appeared in the doorway again, a wary expression on his 
face.

"This is silly.  This is ridiculous," she muttered, angry with 
herself.  She jerked the nightshirt over her head and dropped it on
the floor, stepping out of her underwear.  She closed her eyes and
lowered one foot, then the other into the tub of water, half expecting
it to be freezing against her skin.  Instead, it was pleasantly warm,
and she opened her eyes and sank down into the froth.  She looked at
Mulder, who still stood in the doorway, watching her with concern. 
His eyes were solemn as they studied her, and Scully had the suspicion
that she was being discreetly inspected for visible signs of harm. 
She felt the water sting the scratches on her back from the tree she
had slid against.

She held a sponge out to Mulder.  "Help me with my back?"

He nodded and stepped back into the bathroom, kneeling 
beside the tub and taking the sponge from her.  He dipped it in 
the water and then squeezed the warm water over her 
shoulders and back.  She sighed.

"So, do you want to talk about what just happened here?"

She groaned.  "Are you planning to psychoanalyze me?"

"Probably."

She nodded.  "Okay.  I can handle it."

"Look, Scully, you've been through a lot of physiological 
changes recently.  It's not at all unexpected or unusual that 
your self-body-image could become a little skewed."

She sighed and looked at him.  "It's not that."

"What, then?"

"It was--asinine.  You're my husband.  You've seen me naked a 
million times--"

"And loved every minute of it, too," he muttered before 
bowing to the seriousness of the moment.

"--but I started to undress and suddenly--"

"Suddenly what?"

She took a deep breath.  "I felt like my body had betrayed me.  
However wrong or ridiculous it might be, my body was not 
able to fulfill the most basic function of womanhood--it was 
not able to sustain our baby.  It betrayed me.  It wasn't me, 
anymore, it was the enemy.  And suddenly, I didn't want you 
seeing it."

"Why?"

"I didn't want you to see how I failed you.  I should have been 
standing there displaying the first signs of my pregnancy, all the
little changes that were taking place.  I looked forward to that
moment for six weeks.  Sometimes the thought of sharing my pregnancy
with you was the only thing that kept me sane in that place.  Instead,
there I was, and had nothing to show you.  I was--empty."  Her eyes
were naked as they scanned his features for the reassurance she hoped
for, or the scorn she half-feared.

Mulder ran his hands over her back and shoulders, her arms, 
her sides, all the skin her could reach.  Eventually, he reached out
and cupped her face in his palms, his fingers caressing her jaw. 
There was no sensuality in the caresses.  It was a way of showing her
that he did not find fault with her body in any way, that it was part
of her, and he did not fault her for what had happened.  That he loved
her, and was happy simply to have the opportunity to touch her again.

He pulled her towards him, leaning his face against hers, 
touching their foreheads in silent communion.  Their breaths 
mingled as he spoke, "Not bad for an amateur."

She raised her eyes to his, her lips trembling.

"Dana Katherine Scully, you did not fail me, ever, in any way.  
Please, please don't ever think that I would blame you for 
losing the baby.  Please don't blame yourself."

"I know you don't blame me," she murmured.  "And I know, 
logically, that there is nothing to blame myself for.  But that 
doesn't make it hurt any less, and I don't exactly have access to the
people who really deserve the blame."

He did not comment as he lifted the sponge again and began to 
soap her limbs.  She lay back and forced herself to relax under 
his ministrations.  She didn't need to be pampered, the 
independent part of her screamed.  She could do for herself.  
But she knew this time was therapeutic for both of them.  She 
realized that Mulder, being Mulder, was probably still 
harboring his own guilty feelings that he had "allowed" her to 
be taken.  That it was patently untrue was irrelevant.  He 
would blame himself nonetheless, and by allowing him to take 
care of her, she was reaffirming his confidence in her faith in 
him, her total trust.  She was reassuring him that she did not 
blame him for what had happened.  And ultimately, this time 
together was a way of them each assuring themselves that this 
was real, that they truly were together again.

They made breakfast together after Scully's bath, since no 
amount of convincing could persuade Scully to leave Mulder 
unsupervised in the kitchen for an extended period of time.  
They ate at the table where Mulder had tried to propose to her, 
where she had almost told him about the baby.  The thought 
sent a pang through her which she ignored.  Today was their 
anniversary.  They'd had enough negative emotion for the day.

"So when is the hoard going to descend upon us?"  she asked 
as he cleared their plates.

"They're not.  I convinced them to give us a couple days alone 
to recover.  Samantha and Preston and Mom are flying back to 
Boston on Sunday night, though, so we've been invited to a 
cookout at your mother's Sunday afternoon.  Think you'll be up 
to that?"

"Yeah.  That should be nice.  It's good that they're not coming 
by today.  I love them dearly, but I'm really not up to 
company."

"Yeah, well, I thought I deserved a couple days alone with 
you."

She gave him a soft smile and allowed him to usher her into the 
living room and onto the sofa.  "I guess we've got a few things 
to talk about.  Why weren't you surprised to learn about the 
baby?"

"Your doctor's office called the third week you were gone to 
confirm your prenatal check-up appointment."

"I'm sorry you had to learn that way," she murmured, not 
meeting his eyes.

"Was that what you were so nervous about telling me that 
night?"

She nodded.

"Why the hesitation?"

"I don't know.  The moment came, and I just froze.  Whenever 
I thought of telling you, I remembered the look in your eyes 
and the tone of your voice when you told me that having a 
baby wasn't as important to you as keeping me safe.  I was 
afraid that you wouldn't be as happy about the baby as I was."

"You know me better than that, Scully," he said softly, taking 
her hand.

"I know.  But what about you?  You said in the hospital that 
you thought I'd changed my mind.  You thought that I got 
pregnant on purpose."

His expression was appropriately sheepish.  "I found your 
diaphragm in the medicine cabinet after we made love that 
night," he answered her unspoken question, "and I realized that 
you couldn't have used it.  I didn't know what else to think."

"But you know I would never, ever deceive you like that."

"Logically, I knew that, but I couldn't figure out how else to 
explain it.  I thought that maybe your words about not needing 
children had just been for my benefit."

She grimaced.  "Boy, did we ever get our signals crossed."

"We know each other better than anyone, Scully.  How do we 
explain such a lapse in communication?"

"Bad situation," she shrugged, "and it wasn't aided by the fact 
that I should have come to you the moment I suspected I was 
pregnant and didn't.  I waited over a day to get confirmation.  I
wanted to be absolutely certain first."

He blinked at her.  "So that's what your mysterious errands 
were about.  How far along were you?" he swallowed hard.

"Nine weeks the night I was taken.  This was my fifteenth 
week," she answered, forcing herself to speak.  "I didn't 
suspect for a very long time, which is ridiculous in itself, but I
guess it just never occurred to me.  I got my first period after
conceiving, which isn't unheard of, and then you and I were busy on a
case, so I was too distracted to notice when I missed my second one. 
Then one morning I woke up and I just knew--"

Her voice began to grow choked again, and Mulder cuddled 
her to him, tucking her head beneath his chin.

"I was serious when I said that we could try again, Scully."

"Nothing has changed, Mulder," she replied.  "Nothing has 
happened to warrant a change in our decision."

"We've changed, Scully," he replied.  "We didn't realize how 
much this meant to us before."

"But the situation is still the same.  The risks are still there."

"It has occurred to me that if we let what happened when you 
were gone affect us to the extent of making such life-altering 
decisions based upon it, they they've won.  They have control 
over us," he told her.  "Do we want to live our lives running 
scared like that?"

"No, of course not.  But what is the alternative?  We give it a 
shot just to have this happen again?  Or something worse?  Or 
we start actively trying to conceive and we can't?  Do we want 
to go through that?"  she asked.

"Mulder, what was done to me in that three months is 
something I may never get over.  If I had been physically 
tortured, or raped, or victimized in any other way, I could 
work it out in therapy, or a support group.  But this is 
something I can't take to any therapist, Mulder, and you know 
it.  This betrayal--this perversion--took something from me 
that I may never get back, and did things to me that I may 
never recover from.  And the not knowing is hell, Mulder.  But 
it is over, and all we can do is move on with our lives and try 
not to let it control us.  But if they destroyed my ability to have
children, I don't want to know.  Because there is no greater feeling
of inadequacy than to not be capable of fulfilling such a basic human
function, something so natural.  And I will be damned if I will allow
myself to feel like a failure for what those bastards did to me."

"We don't have to decide anything right now, Scully, but I 
want you to think about one thing:  We'll never be free of what 
they did so long as we refuse to face the consequences of it."

She was silent, having no words to respond with.  Mulder 
smoothed her hair back from her face and held her close until 
they both drifted off to sleep again.

*  *  *  *  *


===========================================================================

From: "Kristel S. Johns" <kjohns@mail2.alliance.net>
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:23 +0000
Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 11b


NIGHTSCAPE
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns

Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to
the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net

The characters and situations of the X-Files television program
are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without
permission.  No infringement is intended.  I just want to tell a
story.

Part Eleven (2/2)

*  *  *  *  *

Saturday, all hell broke loose, weather-wise.  The heat wave 
shattered with the most powerful summer storm of the last fifty 
years.  Power went out in many parts of the city, including that part
which housed the Mulder/Scully residence.  That meant that the air
conditioner failed to function, and though the rain was cooling the
outdoors, inside it was stifling.  Alone, Scully and Mulder stripped
to their underwear and tried to find any sort of diversion to keep
their minds off their discomfort.  It was too hot to be in close
physical contact, too hot to take a nap, so finally they sat down at
the table with a candle and a game of Scrabble.  Scully won, mostly by
virtue of using large medical terms that used up the rare, high value
letters and left Mulder scratching his head.  They scavenged the
left-over pizza from two nights previously out of the refrigerator
before it went bad and ate it cold.  The day gave them the opportunity
to be alone together with no distractions, time to get comfortable
with one another again.

"What was it like while you were there?" Mulder asked her 
after their game, when they both lay sprawled out on the floor 
where it was coolest.

"What was it like?" she asked incredulously.  "Mulder, you 
don't want to know."

"Maybe I don't, but I think you need to talk about it."

"Okay.  Maybe I do.  Imagine, if you will, sitting for one 
thousand and eight hours, give or take a few, in one place, in 
the dark, with no sunlight and little companionship, staring at 
four gray walls and a couple of old medical texts.  The baby 
was my only companion, and I began talking to it.  I told it 
about all the dreams I had for it, I bounced ideas for names off it
and I tried as hard as I could to imagine I was getting some sort of
response.  Sometimes, I felt that it must be very near to what hell is
like.  Then there were the times when I could stare at those walls no
more, so I'd close my eyes and try to imagine you there.  In my head,
we chose a new apartment where we would live with the baby, we chose
furniture for the nursery, we shopped for clothing and baby
accessories, and all those little things that people do when they're
together and having a baby.  And that was my hope.  Nothing more than
to just survive and see those make-believes become reality.  There
came a point where I wondered if I was sane the way that the fantasies
began intruding into reality.  I thought I was going out of my mind
when I lay by that tree finally and saw you coming towards me.  I
thought that I was dying and that my last look at you was going to be
nothing more than the desperate workings of my imagination."

Mulder shuddered despite the heat.  "I'm so sorry."

"The funny thing is, I was always the worst at playing make-
believe as a child.  I could never convince myself that my dolls were
babies or that I had an imaginary husband, or that twigs were any
number of items.  It was very nonsensical to me.  But I came to
believe in what I saw and heard in my head down there."

"How were you physically?" he asked the question as gently as 
he could, unable to stop himself.  "With the baby and 
everything..."

She gave a sharp bark of laughter.  "Oh, God!  You REALLY 
don't want to know that!"

"Yes, I do."

"The first ten or eleven days were fine.  I thought that I was 
going to be one of those women who never experiences 
morning sickness.  And then it hit me.  Mulder, it was awful.  I
couldn't move without being sick.  I vomited half of everything I ate.
 And when I wasn't sick, I was so desperately tired.  All I could do
was lay on my cot and be miserable.  It frightened me to think that I
wouldn't be able to escape even if the opportunity did arise because I
would be too sick.  I pray that I never have to go through that
again." She paused, uncomfortable suddenly.  If she could have a baby
again, would she truly refuse to do so to spare herself a little
discomfort?

"What about you?  What did you do while I was gone?"

He reached out and twined his fingers with her.  "I slept on the
sofa," he replied with a wry smile.

"You mean to tell me you actually slept?  If I were to call my 
mother, she would substantiate this?"

"Okay, well, I tried to sleep.  Sometimes.  Rarely.  I was too 
busy racking my brain to see where I could try to look for you 
next."

"And you tortured yourself when you came up with no 
answers," she said softly.

"Yeah, pretty much."

She reached out and stroked his hair.  "My poor Mulder.  
When am I ever going to convince you to stop abusing yourself 
over every tiny thing?"

"Tiny?"

"Or not so tiny," she replied, fanning herself.  "I am about three
seconds away from carrying these candles into the bathroom and taking
a cold shower."

Mulder looked at her, his eyebrows arched.  "You want a cold 
shower?  Really?"

"I'm getting to that point."

"Come here," he stood and hauled her to her feet, taking her by 
the hand and leading her to the balcony.  She saw his intent and
backed away.

"Uh-uh.  No way.  I'm not going out there with you."

"Why not?"

"Because, in case you haven't noticed, Mulder, we are in our 
underwear, and it is daylight, and any one of our neighbors 
could look and see us."

"Scully, the balcony is enclosed on the sides, and there's no one
above us.  If you want a shower..."

She couldn't help but begin to smile.  "Mulder, you're crazy!"

"So you've said before--in the rain as well, if my memory 
serves."

"Your memory always serves, Mulder," she muttered, allowing 
him to drag her by the hand onto the balcony.

The rain hit them in sheets, soaking their bare skins, stinging 
where it struck them.  It poured off their bodies in rivulets, 
down their faces, soaking their hair.  Mulder stood and 
watched her as Scully opened her arms to the sensations.  For 
the first time in almost seven weeks, she felt alive.  All 
sensations converged on her at once, pain, pleasure, joy, 
sorrow, rage.  She began to laugh, even as she became aware 
the rain wasn't the only thing running down her face.  Her 
laughter mixed with sobs as the emotions overloaded her 
senses.  She didn't know how to feel.  She hadn't known how 
to feel since the moment she had awakened in the hospital to 
realize that she had truly lost her baby.  She didn't know how 
she had intended to go on, or for how long before she couldn't 
hold it all inside any longer.  

She sank weakly to her knees on the balcony, her body being 
racked with her sobs as the sorrow she had been burying began 
to emerge.  Mulder knelt before her, taking her into his arms 
and sheltering her with his body as she cried.

"It hurts," she cried, "It hurts so much and I don't know how 
I'm ever going to get past it.  Mulder, it hurts so much I just 
want to die sometimes..."

He wrapped himself around her, engulfing her with all his limbs 
as she trembled against him.  "Shh," he whispered, kissing her 
forehead.  "Let it out.  Just let it go."

They sat that way for several minutes until they began to get 
cold.  Mulder guided her inside and into bathroom, wrapping 
her in a large bath sheet.  Then he brought her into the 
bedroom and lay down with her on the bed.

She hiccoughed, shivering in his arms as he tried to dry her 
without pulling away from her, unmindful that they were 
getting the bed wet.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely when her tears and sobs 
were past.

"Are you better now?" he asked tenderly.

"Yes, much.  I didn't realize that I had that inside me.  I 
thought I was okay with this.  I was able to laugh, to smile, 
even to cry...I thought I was doing all right."

"It's got to get worse before it gets any better, Scully."

"I know that.  I'm aware of that, at least.  Logically--"

"Screw logic, Scully.  Do yourself a favor and just feel for 
a while, okay?"

She couldn't help but begin to laugh at that.  How many times 
had he wanted to say that to her since they met, she wondered.  
He began to laugh with her.

"Okay, so maybe that wasn't the most couth way of telling you 
to quit thinking for a while," he conceded, stroking her wet 
hair back from her face.  She lay limply in his arms, feeling 
utterly drained.

"What about you?" she asked softly.  "When do you begin to 
heal?"

"I never had a chance to love the baby the way you did, 
Scully," he replied.  "My loss isn't like yours."

"But you did lose something very important to you," she 
countered.  "And don't deny it.  I see the look in your eyes 
when you ask me about the baby, that look that says you 
would have given anything to have experienced those moments 
with me.  When do you face your own loss, Mulder?"

"As soon as I stop worrying about you, I guess," he answered 
frankly.

"That's not good enough, Mulder," she said firmly.  "Talk to 
me.  Tell me how you feel about this."

"It's killing me, Scully," he looked at her, tears shining in his dark
eyes.  "Maybe the only chance we'll ever have to have a baby of our
own, and we lost it.  But I didn't lose you, and that's what I've been
focusing on."

She sighed.  "We're always so much stronger together..."

He kissed her forehead.  "We can get through anything 
together," he replied.

The electricity chose that moment of come on, blinding them as 
the lights suddenly came on in the half-dark.  Scully looked up 
at Mulder questioningly.  "Does this mean our moment of 
vulnerability in the rain and dark is over?"

He smiled at her, his love glowing in his eyes.  "You can come 
to me in the rain, in your underwear, as vulnerable as you like 
any time."

"And what about you?"

"Well, I'll try, but I don't think your underwear will fit--"

*  *  *  *  *

The next afternoon, the sun was back out, but it lacked the 
ferocity it had beat down upon them with before.  The storm of 
the previous day had left a gentle breeze behind, and suddenly 
all the scorched yellows and browns of the heat wave turned 
green again.  It was the perfect day for a cookout.

Scully sat in the shade under the picnic table umbrella with her
mother while Preston and Mulder and Skinner debated the best way to
grill steaks.  Samantha and Caroline Mulder had run out to get various
and sundry cookout necessities such as soda and potato chips.

"Are you feeling better?" Maggie asked her daughter, who 
surveyed the scene from behind her sun glasses.

"Yes, I am.  Spending a couple days alone with Mulder 
adjusting to everything helped," she said.  Clyde came trotting 
up to her carrying his ball and she tossed it out into the yard 
for him, smiling affectionately.

"I'm glad," Maggie replied.  "It's a hard thing to go through, I
know."

There was a catch in her mother's voice that made Scully look 
up.  "How?"

Maggie smiled sadly.  "A few months after you were born, a 
year before Charlie was born, I had a tubal pregnancy.  Of 
course, I lost the baby and one of my fallopian tubes...I was 
told my chances of having any more children were slim, so 
imagine my surprise when I found that I was pregnant with 
Charlie."

"I didn't know..."

"No, of course not.  We never spoke of it much.  It was easier 
to leave those sad things behind and focus on all the glad times.  We
were blessed with four healthy, wonderful children, and it would have
been foolish to dwell on our loss in the light of all that."

Scully thought, not for the first time, that her mother was a 
very rare breed of woman.

"I'm not sure that I could bear to take the chance of going 
through this again," she said softly.  "I think next time, it would
kill me."

Maggie grabbed both of her hands in a strong grip.  "Dana 
Katherine, if you never take another word of advice from me 
for a long as you live, remember this:  God didn't put you here 
on this earth for you to live in fear of what you might possibly lose.
 You grab your life, and you grab your chances, and you run with them.
 You've been given a wonderful life and an incredible husband--will
you really turn your back on half the joys you could have out of fear
of the unknown?"

Clyde ran back up to his mistress with the ball and dropped it 
at her feet.  She picked it up distractedly and tossed it out into the
yard again.  "I am so afraid," she said.

"It is frightening.  But sometimes I think we need the fear to 
see what it is that we have that makes it all worth while."

Just then, Mulder walked up behind Scully and dropped a kiss 
on the top of her head.  "What are you two so intent over?"

"Nothing," she smiled up at him, knowing he was doing no 
more than checking up on her.  No doubt he had somehow 
sensed that she was getting emotional again.  "Just the 
mysteries of life."

"Ooh, cryptic," he murmured, hugging her briefly.  "The 
*enigmatic* Dr. Scully at her best."

He kissed her again and then wandered back to the grill.

Scully looked at the loved ones surrounding her, from Clyde, 
who was bounding back to her with his ball in his mouth, to 
Mulder over by the grill, who was the other half of her.  One 
time, she had thought this was all she needed to be fulfilled.  
Had she been wrong?

She glanced back at her mother, who was watching her 
expectantly.  She smiled softly.  "My momma didn't raise no 
cowards," she quipped.

Maggie Scully began to smile.  "No she didn't.  You remember 
that."

*  *  *  *  *

End of Part Eleven


===========================================================================

From: "Kristel S. Johns" <kjohns@mail2.alliance.net>
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:19 +0000
Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 12a


NIGHTSCAPE
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns

Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to
the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net

The characters and situations of the X-Files television program
are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without
permission.  No infringement is intended.  I just want to tell a
story.

Part Twelve (1/2)

*  *  *  *  *

Mulder and Scully decided not to go in to work the following 
week.  They stayed home instead, doing nothing other than 
enjoying their time together.  It was a time to celebrate being 
with one another, it was a time to heal their sore hearts and 
bodies.  Scully thought she was making some headway into 
regaining her peace of mind when Bartel called for them 
Wednesday night.

Mulder spoke quietly with him on the phone and then looked 
up at Scully.  She knew from the expression in his eyes that the news
was very bad indeed.  She waited expectantly for him to hang up the
phone.

"Bartel just got a call from Virginia.  Morris' implant has 
disappeared from the evidence room, as have all records 
pertaining to it.  The doctor that removed the implant can't be 
contacted."

She sat weakly in a chair.  "Without the implant, any chances 
we had of proving he wasn't responsible for his actions are 
gone."

Mulder nodded.  "He's going to prison."

"Damn it!" she shouted, striking the table with her hand.  She 
raked her hair back from her face in an agitated gesture.  
"They're going to get away with it again!  Let an innocent man 
take the fall while they sit in their cozy offices smoking their
cigarettes and getting a huge chuckle off it all."

"I don't think they're laughing, Scully.  Remember, they lost 
this one.  Something in their plan went wrong, and because of 
that, you're not dead.  I think they have just realized that things
aren't always going to go their way, and they're scared," Mulder
responded softly, crouching beside her.

"So what does that mean for us?  They're going to try even 
harder, right?  More drugs in the water system?  Or will they 
just go for broke and detonate a bomb in our building, however 
indelicate that might be, to see us dead?"

"I don't know, Scully.  But I do know that the stakes are much 
higher now.  Something is going to happen, soon.  Something 
has to give."

She looked at him with raw fear in her eyes.  "Yeah, but will it be
them or us?"

*  *  *  *  *

The following Monday, they returned to work.  Relatively 
speaking, it was a quiet week in the X-Files division of the 
Violent Crimes Section.  Scully found herself inundated with 
nearly two months of paperwork that needed catching up on.  
Luckily, one of the M.E.s working under her had kept very 
clear records of all their activities during her absence, so that the
reports were easier to complete.

It was Friday of that week that Mulder walked into her office, 
his face grim, and closed the door tightly behind him.  "Steven 
Morris is dead."

Her face slowly drained of color.  "How?"

He grimaced.  "They're ruling it as suicide."

"He was on suicide watch!"

Mulder looked up at her with anger blazing in his eyes.  "Yeah, 
well somehow, a man with no family and not a friend in the 
world managed to sneak a lethal dose of cyanide into the 
prison and ingest it."

"He was brought straight from the hospital to the prison...They
murdered him," she whispered.  "The sons of bitches poisoned 
him.  It wasn't enough that he was going to take the rap for 
them, they had to kill him as well.  God, Mulder, when does it 
stop?  Where does it end?"  Her hands clenched and 
unclenched frantically on the desk in front of her, her fingers 
trembling.  She wanted to grab something, to throw something, 
to hit something.  "I suppose no one at all finds it even the 
tiniest bit odd that a man brought straight to prison from the 
hospital with no personal possessions whatsoever managed to 
secrete cyanide on his person--despite a strip search--for two 
weeks--under suicide watch?"  Her voice grew harder with 
mounting anger, her words flying faster.  She could imagine 
the sound of her voice raised was drawing the attention of the 
clerks in the outer office.

Mulder smiled a bitter smile.  "There will be an inquiry into the
matter, of course."

"The results of which will conveniently disappear," Scully 
finished the thought with a snarl on her face.  "So we have 
nothing.  The murder of those women, the loss of our baby, my 
kidnapping--all of it is going to be swept under the rug as 
though it never happened.  Just like Missy's murder."

Mulder glanced around uncomfortable, and Scully knew what 
he was thinking.  He was wondering if their office might not be 
bugged.  It wouldn't be the first time.

"Come on," he said softly.  "Let's get out of here for a while."

They were silent as they left the J. Edgar Hoover building and 
made their way to the Reflecting Pool.  Mulder was the first to 
speak.

"Skinner was almost killed trying to keep the investigation into
Missy's death open," he said tensely.  "What do you think they'll try
to do to us if we push this?"

"We can't let it go, Mulder."

"I don't know, Scully.  One time, I wouldn't have cared about 
the consequences of pushing as far as I could for answers, but 
that was when I didn't have anyone else but myself that I 
worried about.  Now I have Samantha, my mom, your mom, 
you--especially you, Scully."  He held up a hand to fend off her
rising protest.  "I know you can take care of yourself, but I'm coward
enough where you are concerned to let it go just to keep you safe."

"It's too late for that, Mulder.  We're in too deep.  If we backed out
now, we'd be letting them win, and we'd still be at risk of the moment
that they decided we know too much anyway.  Besides, you're speaking
as though you are the one who is single-handedly responsible for our
safety, as though I'm not a part of this.  Mulder, this ceased to be
just your search a long time ago.  We're in this together now.  All
the way to the end."

He frowned, not meeting her eyes.  "Have you ever thought 
that if we were to walk away, they might just let us go and 
leave us alone?  Maybe we could settle down, raise our family 
and live relatively normal lives."

"Where is this coming from, Mulder?" Scully demanded, a 
confused frown on her face.  "You--willing to compromise on 
the truth?"

"For you, Scully, I would do anything.  So now the question 
we have to ask ourselves is whether we are truly after justice, 
or revenge?"

Scully tensed.  "I am NOT after revenge," she said defensively.  "And
I resent the implication that my desire to see the wrongs committed by
these people brought to light is simply the hysterical raving of a
bereaved mother.  If we are ever to be at peace, Mulder, we have to
end this.  Otherwise, there IS no relatively normal life for us."

"I'm scared, Scully."  Mulder looked at her with eyes that were 
naked and full of fear.  I'm afraid that I'm going to lose you to
this.  I would pack it all up right now and never look back to avoid
that," he said softly, reaching for her hands and holding them
tightly.

"Mulder,"  Scully closed her eyes, shutting out the look on his 
face.  She couldn't give in on this.  She couldn't.   "There was a
time when I wasn't always sure that you were right in your pursuits,
but I stayed with you.  I believed in you.  I had faith that you were
doing what was right, no matter what my mind said.  I'm asking you to
have that same faith in me.

"What are our alternatives here?  Even if they did leave us 
alone if we backed off, what then?  Who would we be if we 
sold out, moved to suburbia and raised a house full of kids?  It
sounds wonderfully idyllic, Mulder, but we would hate ourselves for
doing it, because we would always know there was something left
undone.  How could we teach our children what is right and decent and
just when we let this go unresolved, when we will have just turned our
backs and let them get away with it?"

"Damn it, Scully!  What kind of parents will we be if we're 
dead?"  Mulder shouted, burying his face in his hands.  "I 
believe in you.  You know that.  And I know that you're right.  
But just as I know that you're right, I also know that we're a 
breath away from stepping over that line that has kept us alive 
all these years.  I won't lose you.  Even for the truth."

Scully's heart ached as she heard the anguish in his words.  Part of
her wondered how she could ask this of him, ask him to take this risk
when she knew how much he needed her.  And part of her protested
angrily the idea that he would be willing to back out now.  He, whom
had always been the one to chase after the truth, no matter what the
cost, was about to walk away just when it was most critical.

"What do you want to do, Scully?  What do we do that we're 
not already doing every day?  We're searching, you know that.  
How do we do more?  Where do we go to find the answers 
NOW?  Give me a plan that won't entail either of us getting
killed before sunset and I'll follow you."

"I don't know, Mulder!  When did I become the one with all 
the answers?"  she shouted, feeling irrationally betrayed.  "I 
just know that I can't let this go.  It'll haunt me the rest of my
life if I do."

"Come home with me, Scully.  Come home and we'll figure it 
out."

She glared at him.  "You mean come home so you can talk me 
out of it?"

"Scully, you know better than that--"

Yes, she did, Scully thought, and yet as the hurtful words fell 
from her mouth, she couldn't seem to stop them.  "I won't be 
manipulated this time, Mulder.  I've waited long enough for 
this.  I'm going to have my answers, and I'm going to have 
them tonight.  Now are you coming with me?"

He met her eyes evenly. "I won't risk your life over this, 
Scully."

"It's not yours to risk," she murmured, and turned away.

"Scully--" he jumped up from the bench and grabbed her arm.

"Unless you plan on forcing a physical confrontation here 
before the entire world, Mulder, then you let me go right now."

Scully heard her own voice as though it were another person 
speaking.  Indeed, she felt that it was another person.  How 
could she speak to Mulder like this--Mulder, who wanted 
nothing in the world more than to love her and keep her safe?  
She felt the pain her own words were causing him like a knife 
wound.  And yet she couldn't stop.

She pulled out of his grasp, turned her back, and walked away.

*  *  *  *  *

Mulder watched her, knowing she would carry out her threat.  
If he tried to restrain her, she would make a scene that would 
draw the attention of everyone for a mile.  He would be 
painted as the villain harassing an innocent woman, and she 
would still walk away to do whatever it was she was being 
driven to do.

Her eyes had chilled him to the bone.  They had been a 
strangers eyes, looking at him without recognition from his 
wife's familiar face.  For a moment, he could truly believe that she
was not the Scully he knew.

But she was.  She was his Scully in more pain than she had 
ever known in her entire life, pain that was oozing from her 
like an infected wound to contaminate those around her.  It 
would take more than a few raw, emotional moments in the 
rain to rid her of that festering infection.  He had told the truth
when he had said it would get worse before it got better.  But he had
never expected her pain to manifest itself like this.

Part of him felt angry at her for this foolhardiness, for risking
herself when she knew she was everything to him, and part of him was
angry at himself for turning on her when she needed him most.  Why
couldn't he support her in this, carry it out with her until she found
what she needed, and his beloved wife returned.  Of all he times they
had exchanged faith in each other, where was his faith in her now?

Jesus, he had just gotten a taste of life without her.  He 
couldn't bear to risk living through that again.

But if that was the case, then why hadn't he gone with her?  
Surely she would be safer with him at her side than on her 
own.

He stopped suddenly, realizing the full import of what he had 
just done. 

He'd allowed her to go into a dangerous situation without him, 
her rightful partner, at her side.

Cursing, Mulder ran off in the direction she had left in.

*  *  *  *  *

Scully at first wasn't sure where she was going, but then a 
peaceful tranquillity took over her, and she knew.  She knew 
where she would find her answers.

But first, she had some preparations to make.

She returned to the apartment to change her clothes and to 
gather what she needed.  Dressed in dark, loose fitting 
slacks and a black blouse, her hair pulled severely back from 
her face, no one could fail to take her seriously.  She noticed 
with detachment as she studied the mirror that her rage seemed 
to give her stature.  Tonight, people would have to look up at 
her for a change.

She restored her gun to its holster at her waist and packed a 
duffel bag with the items she would need, then stood and 
walked towards the door.  She was reaching for the knob when 
it twisted and the door opened.  She met Mulder's eyes 
unwaveringly, the question written plainly in hers.

Mulder swallowed hard.  "You asked me to have faith in you.  
I do have faith in you.  You know that.  No matter what, we're 
in this together.  Until the end."

Her expression softened, and she closed her eyes with relief.

"On a condition, Scully," he said firmly.  "We end this tonight.  And
after it's over, no matter what we find, we go on with our lives.  It
doesn't last past tonight."

She nodded solemnly, sensing his fear for her behalf, his 
anguish that he had nearly let her go without him.  But he was 
here with her.  He was her life's partner, and he was by her side
where he belonged.

Without speaking, he crushed her to him, and she clung to him.  
They didn't apologize to each other--there would be time for 
that later, for the hurts they had inflicted to heal.  Tonight was
about surviving.  He let her go without a word, and they began to make
their preparations.

*  *  *  *  *


===========================================================================

From: "Kristel S. Johns" <kjohns@mail2.alliance.net>
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:15 +0000
Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape 12b


NIGHTSCAPE
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns

Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to
the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net

The characters and situations of the X-Files television program
are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without
permission.  No infringement is intended.  I just want to tell a
story.

Part Twelve (2/2)

*  *  *  *  *

It was after six the following morning when Scully and Mulder 
returned to their apartment.  Mulder looked around the 
apartment in the early morning light for listening devices or 
possibly something more lethal while Scully sank wearily onto 
the sofa, a single cassette tape in her hand.

Mulder returned to find her there staring at the tape, turning it over
and over in her hands.  This was their own copy of the tape.  A copy
had already been given to Byers at THE LONE GUNMAN for safekeeping
and, if necessary, replicating.  What was on the tape were the answers
to every question they had been asking for nearly eight years.

It was a bittersweet moment, to say the least, to have 
possession of that tape.  Because the answers had not come 
without a price.

"They'll kill us for certain now that we have this information,"
Scully said tonelessly.

"No.  I think that he means to keep his word.  So long as that
information stays with us, we're safe.  And they know that if 
anything should happen to one or both of us, a copy of that 
tape will make its way to every news room in the country.  
With or without substantiation, people are bound to listen.  
Now, the only way to preserve their secrets is to keep us 
alive."

"But now the public will never know--"

"We'll know, Scully.  We know what they have done and when 
and where they've done it, and we know what to look for to 
keep it all from starting again.  What happened to you will 
never happen to another woman, Scully.  Their power base of 
secrecy is crumbling.

"There is also something else I would like for you to consider--
They were all our age when this all started decades ago.  The 
youngest one of them has what?  Ten, fifteen years left to live?  Then
what?  They have not recruited a new generation to keep their secrets
safe.  Then look at us--we're young, we're healthy.  We have another
fifty--sixty years left, barring any unforeseen circumstances--"

"Providing I don't end up like Betsy Hagopian," Scully 
muttered.

"But we both know that's not likely to happen now," Mulder 
replied.  "My point is, Scully, that we wait a little while for 
these bastards to die, and then there will be no one to care 
when we blow the lid off this thing.  Until then, we have the 
answers that we needed.  We know what we wanted to know. 
We can be free now, Scully."

Mulder knew what she was thinking as she stared at the tape.  
It was pathetic--all the work, all the attempts on their lives, the
lies, the cover ups, Melissa, the baby--all explained in one
embarrassed confession on that nondescript tape.  There was no
satisfaction in it.  They had held their guns on the man, as Mulder
had done by himself once before, and demanded their answers.  And he
had given them, not out of fear for his own life--though he and Mulder
both knew Scully had meant it when she had threatened to blow his head
off if he didn't talk-- but because he had found a way to bargain with
Mulder and Scully that no one had thought of before.  Give Mulder and
Scully their answers, then insure their silence, not with the threat
of death, but with the promise of safety.

They could have gone higher for their information, all the way 
to the top of this "consortium" to the immaculate bastard who 
seemed to run things, but they had known where to find the 
weak link in the chain.  Once, the man had declared that he 
didn't negotiate, but Skinner had paved that path for them 
years ago.  Now, the man was on shaky ground, those whose 
dirty work he did were starting to lose faith in him.  Best to 
find the way to rid them of the Mulder/Scully threat once and 
for all.

The offer had been too seductive, Mulder thought, the promise 
of peace too tempting.  So he had accepted it.  Scully hadn't 
wanted to.  For once, she had been the zealot and he the 
doubter, but she hadn't protested when he had agreed to the 
offer.  Any sign of discord between them would have been a 
weakness revealed, giving the man a vulnerable target at which 
to strike.  They had struck the deal and allowed themselves to 
be drawn into the unholy conspiracy of silence.

They had compromised.

The thought left a bad taste in Mulder's mouth.  He had traded 
in their belief in what was right for their safety.  He would have
promised anything to get Scully back from the precipice she was
toeing, that same line he had walked until the day she had entered his
life.  She had walked away from him that afternoon.  She had actually
turned her back and walked away, ready to leave him behind if he would
not join her.  If it meant that much to her, there was nothing he
wouldn't do to get her what she needed.

Mulder's head snapped up when Scully spoke.  "I need to get 
some caffeine," she muttered, tossing the tape onto the coffee 
table and rising.

Mulder watched her disappear into the kitchen.  He didn't want 
her to be making coffee.  She had been awake for over twenty 
four hours, and even though she claimed to be physically fine, 
he knew she had crossed that line called "overdoing it."

The urge was strong within him to convince her to go to bed 
and they could talk about it later, but he knew that he couldn't. 
Something had happened here that needed to be tended to.  A distance
lay between them that he had not felt in years, since that awful time
in Comity and the surrounding weeks when they had simply been unable
to see eye to eye on anything.

Scully was closing him out.

Why?  Because he had disappointed her?  Because he hadn't 
demanded her long-awaited answers in a different, more 
satisfying manner?  Maybe it had been cowardly of him to 
strike that bargain.  Who was he these days, anyway?  Taking 
the safe road when the truth lay in the other direction...Since 
when did Fox Mulder do that?  Since when did Fox Mulder 
compromise?

Wasn't it possible that he had let Scully down because he 
wasn't the man she knew and loved, the one who took chances, 
the one who wasn't afraid to risk getting slapped down in his 
search for the truth?

No.  He'd told her that there was nothing that he wouldn't do 
to keep her safe and he had meant it.  Scully would have done 
the same for him.  She understood.

But didn't there come a time when understanding wasn't 
enough?  He'd doubted her when she had needed him to shut 
up and support her.  It was an unconscionable breech of faith.  
He said he believed in her, but why the hesitation?  Why not 
just trust her in her belief that she was right?

And how could he let her know that, no matter how right she 
might have been, he still couldn't bear to take the risk of losing
her?

*  *  *  *  *

Scully placed a filter in the coffee pot and measured out the 
grounds with slow, stilted movements, her arms and legs 
feeling heavy, her brain wanting nothing more than to shut 
down.  She filled the carafe with water and poured it into the 
coffee maker to brew, then placed the pot on the plate.  She 
reached for the coffee mugs.

She'd done it.  She'd gotten her answers.  No matter how 
unsatisfactory they may have been, she had them.  The thought 
should have filled her with elation, and yet--

--And yet she could find no joy in the matter.  She had risked 
her life, lost nearly everything in this struggle to find the truth,
and when the truth was finally found, it was nothing more than a tape
full of an aging man's embarrassed confessions.  He hadn't felt guilty
or remorseful.  He hadn't felt that any wrong had been done, to her,
to the other abduction victims, to the countless number whom had lost
their lives along the way.  He had just wanted to get them off his
back, so he had talked.  And made them a party to his guilt.

She wanted to rage at Mulder for accepting that deal, and yet 
she couldn't.  Because he had been right.  Knowing the answers 
would have cost them their lives without the agreement to keep 
what they knew to themselves.  But it defeated half her 
purpose.  Justice would never be served to these men who 
played God with others' lives and destroyed without care.  
Justice would never be found for her baby, for Missy...

Thinking about Missy hurt, and so she turned the thought 
away.  She didn't want to hurt anymore, had hurt enough 
already.  She had thought that when she found the answers, the 
hurting would stop.  Missy would be at peace, and so the part 
of her that existed in Scully's soul could rest.

But the hurting hadn't stopped.  It had gotten worse.

"Scully--" came Mulder's voice from behind her, startling her.  
She lost her grip on the mug in her hand and watched as it 
tumbled in slow motion to the floor below.  It shattered into a 
thousand pieces, which she studied with an odd sense of 
detachment.

She felt like, if she let herself, she would fly apart like those
pieces of stoneware on the floor.

She disliked the feeling.  She disliked the fact that it wasn't 
appeased.  She had sought the answers because the quest had 
provided a constructive purpose into which she could channel 
all her negative emotions.  She had taken the tragedy of her 
sister's death and turned it into a personal crusade.  And now, 
the quest was filled.  The negative energies which had fueled it
should have been spent, and yet there they were.  What on earth could
she do with them now?  Where could she send them so that they wouldn't
tear her apart?

A low, keening sound began to build in her throat, growing in 
intensity and volume until it became a cry of rage.  With a 
lunge, she swept an arm across the counter, sending the tin of 
coffee grounds and the other mug, the creamer and sugar 
crocks flying across the room, spilling them on the floor.  She 
began to gasp for air, sobs that she couldn't release building in her
throat, choking her.  She couldn't get enough air, couldn't
breathe...She leaned weakly against the counter and then sank down,
huddling next to it and surveying the damage she had wrought through a
haze of tears.  She saw feet appear before her and looked up at
Mulder.

"Don't come near me," she gasped.  "Don't--"

"Scully," he sank down beside her.  "Get it out."

"NO!" she screamed.  "No!  I hate this!  I hate what I feel, I 
hate that I can't stop what's happening to me!  I don't WANT 
this, Mulder!  I don't want to feel these things!  I want them to go
away and leave me alone.  Why can't I make them go away?"

She began to sweep frantically at the shards of broken mug 
with her hands, looking for some activity to divert her from 
what was going on inside.  She was vaguely aware of the 
slivers of glass pricking her palms.  Then Mulder was grabbing 
her hands, forcing her to stop.  She wanted him to go away.  
She didn't want to be vulnerable, and when he was near, all her 
barriers disappeared.

"Let me go--!"

"Scully, get this out before it kills you, please!" He forced her to
look at him, and she could see tears on his cheeks.

"I didn't want it to happen like this, Mulder," she cried.  "I 
didn't want a tape that no one will ever hear.  I wanted to make them
pay for what they did!  I wanted justice for Missy--for our baby!  I
thought when I had all the answers, it would stop hurting, but it
hasn't, and I don't have anywhere else to go with it now!  I needed
that search for the answers.  It kept the pain away!"

"Then let it go, Scully!  If you're going to break something, 
break it hard.  Hit something--hit me, if you have to.  I brought you
into this in the first place, I denied you the justice you were
searching for.  Just let it go--"

"You don't understand!  You CAN'T understand!  YOUR 
SISTER CAME BACK!"

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she regretted 
them.  This wasn't Mulder's fault, had never been Mulder's 
fault.  He'd never done anything but love her.  She didn't 
begrudge him Samantha.  He would bring Missy back if he 
could--she knew all that.  Would bring the baby back if he 
could--

"I didn't mean that," she whispered, clutching at him.  "I'm 
sorry--"

"You did mean it, Scully.  It needed to be said."  His face was 
pale, his expression stricken, but he wasn't going anywhere.  
He was looking at her intently, all the love he felt for her in 
that gaze.  "You resent the fact that my sister returned and 
yours never will.  And it is my fault that it happened that way."

"No!  No--I don't blame you--I blame them!  They took your 
sister, which made you who you are and started your search for 
her, which involved me and ultimately Missy.  They're not just 
responsible for Missy's death--they're responsible for the entire
chain of events leading to Missy's death.  And I hate them for it--but
I hate more the fact that they're going to die without paying for it. 
I thought that if I made them pay, I would have peace, and I would
never have to feel these things again."

She began to sob brokenly, painful sobs that had no air behind 
them, coming instead as wheezes through her closed throat.  
She covered her face with her cut and bloody hands and cried 
as she had never cried in her life--and Mulder remained next to 
her, keeping her from sinking to the glass-covered floor, 
keeping her from hurting herself more, giving her the safety she
needed to rid herself of these emotions poisoning her.  He sheltered
her in his arms while she cried as though she would never stop, years
worth of tears of sadness and rage and helplessness that had remained
dammed inside her from that day that she had woken in the hospital to
find three months of her life missing without explanation, since that
day that she had said good-bye to her sister.

Mulder held her next to him, feeling her hot tears on his shirt, his
own tears falling into her hair, feeling a million emotions all at
once.  He felt regret at what this had cost her, regret that he had
not been able to give her the justice she felt she needed, regret that
innocent lives had been lost because he hadn't known how to back down.
 He felt anger that he had been cheated of years with his sister, and
anger that agony had been inflicted upon this woman he loved so
desperately, loved more than life. But most of all, he felt relief. 
Relief that the poison inside her was being released, relief that she
could finally begin to heal.  He'd been with her for nearly eight
years, knew her better than he knew himself, and he's never even
realized that all this was inside her.

Now they truly could be free.  Now they could move on.

He had his own losses, but for whatever reason, he'd seemed to 
be able to deal with them as they happened.  He had mourned 
his sister's loss, but he'd had the hope that she was still alive, and
his father--

--The loss of his father had not filled him so much with grief as with
regret.

Scully had lost everything, though.  She had lost loved ones, 
months of her life, her faith in the system she had decided to 
serve.  She'd lost a lifetime full of illusions that she had 
treasured.  And she had dealt with it, focusing the rage and 
grief and fear into something worthwhile, her work.  And 
Mulder had never known until he began to see her fall apart 
just how much that had cost her.  She'd taken the negative 
emotion and stuffed it away, making it work for her, but never 
allowing it the release that was needed to purge it from her 
altogether.  She had suppressed it for years, and would have 
continued to suppress it except that there was no longer a task 
which she could set before herself and work towards.  Without 
that alternative outlet, it had all come bursting forth.

He had never seen it coming, not until that previous afternoon 
when he had known that something would have to give, and 
soon.  Because Mulder knew in his heart that, though neither 
he nor she would ever speak of it, that Scully had been headed 
towards self-destruction, whether passively by pushing too far, 
or actively, by her own hand.

It was hard to make poison work for you without getting a 
little into your own system.

He didn't know how long that sat in the corner in the kitchen 
like that.  His legs started to go numb and yet he did not move. 
Scully sobbing subsided into the occasional whimper as she remained
huddled beside him, holding him for all she was worth.  His own head
began to hurt from crying, and still he did not move.  Finally, she
looked up at him, her face pale and tear streaked--

"Let go of me--now--" she said softly.  At first, he began to 
protest, and them he saw her throat working convulsively and 
he knew what her problem was.  He let her out of his arms and 
she raced towards the bathroom with a hand clenched over her 
mouth.  He heard her in the bathroom, gagging, and knew she 
would hate for him to see her like that.  Tough.  He gave her a 
few seconds to get over the worst of it, and then followed her.

*  *  *  *  *

Scully flushed the toilet and then leaned wearily, weakly, 
against the wall next to it.  She hurt all over--not the emotional
hurt of before, but a physical pain from the extremes she had been
through.  The vomiting had been a physical response to her sobbing,
the action of which had eventually caused her stomach to protest.  She
felt drained and sore--

--And yet, she felt better.

She looked up to see Mulder standing before her, a glass of 
water in his hands, which she accepted gratefully, washing her 
mouth out.  By dint of will, she resisted the urge to bring that back
up as well.

It was over.  It was truly over.

For once, she didn't feel angry or impatient with herself for 
losing control.  She had needed to relinquish her control for a 
while, or she would never be able to heal, would never be able 
to get past her pain.  Mulder was right.  It would have killed 
her eventually.  The confrontation with Mulder yesterday, the 
angry, hurtful things she had said to him, had all been a part of
that.  She could only hold on for so long, and she had held on too
tightly, only to find her stronghold weakening and giving way beneath
her fingers.  She had lost her grip, and it would only have been a
matter of time before she had fallen to her death.

Mulder knelt before her.  "I'm sorry I didn't follow you 
yesterday."

"I understand why you didn't, Mulder.  You were right.  I was 
going too far.  I was going to get myself killed."

"That doesn't matter.  You've stood by me when you thought I 
might have gone too far.  I broke our trust, Scully."

"You loved me, Mulder, and you did what you could to try to 
keep me safe.  I can't ask for any more than that.  I would have done
the same.  I said some terrible things to you, and you came with me
anyway--if that's broken trust, I'll be perfectly happy to settle for
it."

"You didn't mean to hurt me when you said those things, 
Scully.  You were angry and hurting--I couldn't believe you 
meant them, even if you thought you did at the time.  I think 
we just need to forget that yesterday ever happened and move 
on."

"I think that's wise," she replied, a tear slipping down her 
cheek.  "I came so close to letting it happen, Mulder."

"Letting what happen?"

"Letting what we lost tear us apart--just like Mark and Missy.  
Just exactly the thing I didn't want."

"I wouldn't have let that happen, Scully.  I wouldn't have let 
you walk away."

"I almost gave you no choice."

"Yeah, but I would have tracked you down no matter where 
you went.  You wouldn't have gotten away from me so easily."

"So what do we do now?"  She asked.  "Now that we have our 
answers, where do we go from here?"

"We have an obligation now, Scully.  We have to keep our 
eyes open and make sure that they don't go back on their word, 
that it doesn't start again, the experimentation, the murders, the
lies...We're the only ones who know, so we have a duty to protect
those who don't know.  And we're in the perfect position to do it
from, especially with the restructured X-Files division.  So we get on
with our lives and we do what we do."

"This search is all I've known for so long, I'm not sure I know 
how to get on with my life."

"Then we'll figure it out together.  But you have to let this go
first.  Can you do that?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded solemnly.  "I 
can do it.  I have to do it.  Otherwise, its going to destroy me.  And
then they will have really won."

"I love you, Dana Katherine Scully.  We can do this."

"I know.  I believe in you."

She saw tears in his eyes again and wondered that her simple 
statement of faith, love and trust could affect him so, even in 
this emotions-raw moment.  But then, she realized that she was 
the first person Fox Mulder had ever known to have such faith 
in him.  And she had come so close to letting him down...

But she wouldn't think of that.  He was right--they had to let 
that go.  Let go of the fatal regrets and move on.

If Fox Mulder, whom had cornered the market in self-doubt 
and guilt could do it, then so could she.

She placed her hand in his and he began to lead her from the
bathroom.  Then she stopped and pulled back.

"Wait.  We have to shower first.  We both smell like cigarette 
smoke."

*  *  *  *  *

End of Part Twelve


===========================================================================

From: "Kristel S. Johns" <kjohns@mail2.alliance.net>
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 18:06:54 +0000
Subject: (Fwd) Nightscape - Epilogue (NC-17)


NIGHTSCAPE
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns

Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to
the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net

The characters and situations of the X-Files television program
are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, DD, GA, et cetera, and are used without
permission.  No infringement is intended.  I just want to tell a
story.

WARNING: This segment contains depiction of loving, 
consensual sex between married adults and had been rated 
NC-17.

Epilogue

*  *  *  *  *

Mulder returned home three weeks later to find Scully out on 
the balcony, enjoying the cool September breeze.  She had left 
work early that day for a doctor's appointment to ascertain that there
were no harmful aftereffects of her miscarriage.

She smiled at him as he emerged onto the balcony to join her,
welcoming his company.  It had been a rocky three weeks, 
filled with emotions and outbursts that she had never been 
aware that she had within her.  The first several days after their
confrontation, he had woke up in the middle of the night to find her
crying in her sleep.  During the days, her moods ranged from euphoria
to depression.  It had been difficult to witness his staid, stable
Scully going through these things, but he had stood by and let her
feel the emotions she had no choice but to feel anymore.

She had been impatient with herself, angry at her loss of the 
vital control she so treasured.  And she had been angry with 
him for speaking when she felt he should stay silent, or for 
shutting up when she felt he needed to say something.

Mulder could not have been happier.

Day by day, he'd watched the woman he knew and loved return 
to him in slow measures.  Each day she regained herself.  The 
haunted look that he sometimes saw in her eyes was no longer 
there.  And despite her impatience, she had weathered the 
storm of her own emotions and emerged stronger for it.  
Stronger because she now knew that sometimes, it was okay 
to be weak.

He loved her more than life.

*  *  *  *  *

Scully watched Mulder walk up to the sliding glass door, pull it open,
and emerge onto the balcony.  Beyond the balcony, the weather was warm
and clear and bright.  Sort of like she herself felt.  The doctor had
given her a clean bill of health, and perhaps the one rewarding thing
that had been found on the taped confession was the fact that, in the
battery of tests that Scully had been subjected to during her
abduction, none were likely to have any negative aftereffects.  The
tests performed on Betsy Hagopian and others like her had been
specifically dealing with the mutation and combination of various
forms of cancer, not all of them human.  Scully had not been subjected
to that, and therefore, her chances of ending up like Betsy Hagopian
were slight.

It had been a great relief, a six year burden that had been lifted
from her shoulders.  She did not live in constant fear of the day that
her body would turn on her.  She was still aware though, that there
might be other problems that could arise--many of the experiments that
had been terminated when she and Mulder had stumbled upon the truth
had not yet provided results as to what may lie ahead.  But that fear
was abstract and no longer compounded by the memory of the sight of a
dying Betsy Hagopian in the hospital, and Penny Northern and her
companions telling her that it was happening to all of them.

Gone also was the fear that she and Mulder were in constant 
danger from those who would kill to see their secrets kept.  It 
was an uneasy arrangement, granted, each party having to 
believe that the other would keep to their word, but if they 
were ever to live in any sort of peace, they had to have faith 
that the promise that was made to them would be kept.  And 
she and Mulder had always had great faith.

She smiled as Mulder kissed her cheek gently, his touch 
infinitely tender as he lightly caressed her shoulder.  He still
treated her as though she were fragile, and she caught him looking at
her at times as though he were afraid that she would disappear before
his eyes.  He would always worry about her, though.  It was a part of
life with him that she had come to accept, and even enjoy.

"Hi," she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, 
leaning against him.  He smelled good, she though.  Warmed 
by the sun and blown by the breeze as he'd driven home with 
his windows open.  Suddenly, she didn't feel so tranquil 
anymore.

"Hi, yourself," he replied, accepting the offer of her upturned 
lips.  Scully melted against him, sighing.

Cautiously, Mulder's fingers wove their way through her hair, 
caressing the back of her neck as they did so.  He didn't display a
great deal of passion with her these days.  Scully imagined that he
was afraid to, afraid that he might injure her somehow.  Well, she had
had enough of waiting.

She intentionally deepened the kiss, her hands sliding down to 
Mulder's hips and resting there, caressing lightly.  Mulder 
moaned softly and drew back.

"Hmm, you'd better stop that," he murmured.  "I'm not sure I 
can resist the temptation."

"Who said anything about resisting?" she replied, kissing his 
neck, nibbling his Adam's apple.

"Scully--"

"It's okay, Mulder.  I'm fine."

He looked at her, his desire naked in his eyes.  The look took 
her breath away, and Scully thought that most women on the 
planet would die happy if a man were to look at them like that 
just once in their lifetime.

"Are you sure?"  His voice was a strangled whisper.

"Um-hm," she hummed, her lips moving down his neck, to 
rest at the opening of his collar.

Mulder groaned and clutched her to him, his tongue plunging 
into her mouth, his hand at her waist clenching and unclenching 
on a small handful of her loose blouse.  Scully reached behind 
him and pulled upon the sliding door, pulling him inside.

She walked backwards toward the bedroom, never more than 
an inch from him, her arms wound tightly around him, her lips 
greedy on his.  She had been nearly three months without 
making love to him, and she was starved for the feel of him 
next to her.  Any one but Mulder might have approached her 
long before this, whether she was physically ready or not, but 
Mulder had kept his distance, his touches always non-sexual 
when he held her, caressed her.  He belayed his frustration with
light-hearted, bawdy humor that gave no hint of the needs beneath it. 
It once again made her realize just how truly lucky she was, that his
love for her transcended even his most basic desires.

But she had been waiting long enough.

Impatiently, she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his pants and
began to unbutton it, sliding her hands eagerly beneath it to touch
his warm skin.  She nuzzled her face against his neck, breathing in
his earthy scent.  She wanted him more than her next breath.

Mulder, too, was starving, she realized.  His fingers trembled 
as they unbuttoned her blouse, their brush upon her skin like an
electric shock that caused him to gasp.  He pushed her blouse off her
shoulders and down her arms and then released the front hook of her
bra, letting that fall away also.  His fingers brushed her breast in
the lightest of touches, causing her to draw in her breath.  He leaned
over and kissed her again as his hand closed over her, his thumb
brushing her nipple.

Gradually, all their clothing fell away and they were skin to 
skin upon the bed, touching, tasting, communing in their own 
private universe.  It was more than making love, she realized, it was
an affirmation of life, a celebration of their love for each other. 
As they progressed, Mulder's touches grew less hesitant, less fearful.
 He was starting to realize that she had meant it when she had
reassured him that she was all right.  They lay for the longest time,
staring into each others eyes and exchanging caresses, their bodies
pressed against each other.  Then, with a playful growl, Scully rolled
Mulder onto his back and straddled him.

"Wait!"  Mulder gasped, holding her by the waist above him.  
"Your diaphragm..."

"Taken care of already--" she replied, and he relaxed his grip 
on her waist and let her lower herself onto him.

Mulder groaned and closed his eyes, his head back and the 
tendons on his neck straining as he bit his bottom lip.  When he had
gotten himself under control, he looked back up at Scully.  She smiled
down at him and leaned over, deciding she would nibble on that
beautiful bottom lip herself for a while...

It was much later, the sky darkening outside when they lay 
beside each other, their bodies quivering and damp with 
perspiration.  Scully lay with her head tucked beneath his chin, her
arms around him, her body half-sprawled above him.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" he murmured, 
kissing the top of her head.

"I think I have a pretty good idea," she replied with a soft 
smile.  Her fingers toyed with the light covering of hair on his
chest.  "I'm still thinking that we may be the only couple on earth
that didn't spend their first anniversary reliving the choicer moments
of their honeymoon."

"Yep.  We're pretty pathetic," he replied with a mock frown.

"No we're not.  We're incredible together," she responded.  
"We're magic together."

"Since when do you believe in magic?"  Mulder asked, lifting 
his head to look at her.

"I believe in OUR magic," she replied.  "The kind we make 
when we're together.  We'll share dozens more anniversaries.  
What we have now is every bit as special."

He hummed contentedly.  "Yeah.  I know.  Maybe one of these 
days we'll even go for that house full of kids in the suburbs."

There was something in his voice that made her look up.  "Do 
you think of that often?" she asked softly.

"Having kids?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I do.  It didn't bother me so much before because I 
didn't realize what I was missing, but now--"

"We're not out of danger yet, Mulder," she reminded him.  "We 
still don't know that I'm at all capable of having children."

"I spoke to the doctor who treated you in Claremont," he said 
softly.  "I spoke to her that night we found you, and then she 
called me a couple weeks later.  There was nothing they could 
find in their tests that would indicate that, had circumstances 
been different, you wouldn't have had a totally normal, healthy,
full-term pregnancy.  There was nothing at all abnormal about the
fetus that they could detect, and she said the miscarriage was
probably caused by the physical strain of your stress, and your living
conditions, and the physical trauma of being hit while you were
escaping."

"But that doesn't mean that things couldn't go wrong again, 
Mulder.  There are still a lot of unknowns."

"Since when do we live in fear of the unknown, Scully?"

"You're right," she sighed.  "And my mother said much the 
same thing to me weeks ago.  I suppose that my biggest fear is 
that I'll go through this all again.  I don't know if I could handle
the expectation, the anticipation, the elation, only to have my heart
broken again.  I don't know if I want to risk that"

Mulder sighed.  "We don't have to decide anything now, 
Scully.  We have nearly three months to go yet before we can 
even think of trying to conceive another baby anyway.  Why 
don't we just take it easy and think on it, all right?  Will you
promise me that much?"

She nodded.

"Good.  For now, though, I was thinking maybe a change of 
pace would do us some good."

"Like what?"

"Like maybe moving to a new place.  Maybe even getting that 
house in the suburbs," he replied, watching her closely for her 
reaction.

"You really think you want to do that?" she asked, her eyes 
wide.

"I don't see what it could hurt," he answered. "We could use 
the space for ourselves, and if one day we decide to bring 
children into the picture, by whatever means, we'll need a 
bigger place."

"I think it's a good idea," she said, laying her head back down. 
"Maybe a change of scenery will of us some good."

They lay silent for several moments, watching as the eminent 
sunset began to color the walls of the apartment in rainbow 
hues.  Strange, Scully thought, that they should enjoy the 
sunset better from indoors.

"We didn't have dinner," she realized, looking up at him again.  His
eyes were half-closed and dreamy.

"That's right, we didn't."

"Well, are you hungry?"

Mulder smiled.  "Not for food," he replied, drawing her back 
down to him.

And Scully laughed.

*  *  *  *  *

The End

Please send all questions, suggestions and comments to
the author at kjohns@mail2.alliance.net

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Kristel S Johns
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