Each segment of this series is a single vignette;  though they need to be read in 
sequence for the story to make sense, I prefer to think of each as its own 
individual piece.  For this reason they have all been given their own subtitle, are 
labeled in single parts, and are individually rated. 

Here comes the required information:

Title:  CHIAROSCURO 18:  DESPERATION (1/1)
Author:  Blueswirl @aol.com
Classification:  V,A, MSR
Rating:  PG
Keyword:  Mulder/Scully
Spoilers:  4th Season, Pre-"Leonard Betts"

Summary:  The past cannot help but have an irrevocable effect on the present.

Distribution:  Please distribute to the EMXC, XF Fanfic List, ATXC and 
Gossamer.  Feel free to post this story on any other archive or web page as long 
as my name remains attached.

Watch out -- Disclaimer ahead:  The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully 
belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Prods., Fox Inc. and most importantly to David 
Duchovny and Gillian Anderson.  I'm using them for this story without 
permission.  So sue me.

Feedback:   I love it more than you could ever know.   Please drop me a line -- 
good, bad, whatever! --  at Blueswirl@aol.com.



CHIAROSCURO 18:  DESPERATION   (1/1)
Blueswirl@aol.com
6/98



chiar-oscu-ro:  the quality of being veiled or partly in shadow  (Webster's, 
definition #5)



It was the gradually gathering smoke that cut through her shock, allowing her to 
tear her eyes away from the dead body of the man who had so recently been 
her captor.

	Dana Scully dropped the hypodermic needle on the ground beside her, 
barely conscious of the clattering noise it made as it hit the hardwood floor.  She 
had taken a risk, and it had paid off big time.  She had no real idea what had 
been in the vial she'd used to fill the hypodermic;  she had chosen it because it 
was the only one inside his silver case that was marked with a red label.  There 
hadn't been time to be any more precise.  

	She'd been lucky to steal as much time as she had.

	It was time that had been her downfall.  She hadn't expected it to take her 
nearly as long to get into Virgil's room as it ultimately did.  She had 
underestimated the difficulty that she would have with the locks, not to mention 
how hard it would be to maneuver her body up into the chair in order to reach 
them.   Nor had she expected to get tired so horribly fast.

	It had taken her almost an hour to get out of her room, and another half of 
one to traverse the length of the hallway, dragging the chair with her every inch 
of the way.  Her palms were soon bruised and bleeding, her shirt torn at the 
elbows from pulling herself along.  When she finally reached the door to Virgil's 
room the panic began to set in and she started making mistakes.  She knocked 
over the chair on her first attempt to mount it, and then when she finally 
succeeded she dropped the paper clip and had to begin the whole thing again.  

	It was a half hour later when she heard the sound of his truck pulling into 
the drive.  

	He was early.

	For a moment she had stopped, frozen with terror, unable to continue.  It 
was practicality that forced her to keep moving.  There was no way she was 
going to get back to her room before he discovered her.  He was going to find 
her, of that there was no doubt.  The only question was whether it would be 
before or after she had managed to summon the police.  

	With renewed energy she fought with the paper clip, and by the time she 
finally popped the lock to his room the sweat was pouring over her in buckets.  
She slid off of the chair as quietly as she was able and crawled into the room, 
listening with baited breath to the noise that Virgil was making downstairs, 
praying that he would take his time doing whatever it was he was doing.    

	When she reached the bedside table she tried to yank the phone down 
by its cord and managed to break the table in the process.  The crash 
reverberated in her ears like dynamite but through some stroke of luck it didn't 
bring Virgil running up the stairs.   She had felt as though victory was within her 
grasp as she reached for the receiver and brought it to her ear.....

	.... and heard absolutely nothing.

	It had all been for nothing.

	She was frantically banging on the phone when she heard the sound of 
his footsteps on the stairs.

	It had all been for nothing.

	The look she had seen on his face when he finally reached the door had 
told her everything that she needed to know.   

	Anger, rage, fury, betrayal.

	She had tried to talk to him but he wouldn't listen, wouldn't listen to her 
apologies or her explanations, and in truth she hadn't expected him to.  But by 
some miracle he had left her alone long enough to give her time to crawl over to 
where his silver case rested by the wall.   By some miracle she had gained 
enough time to prepare the shot.  By some miracle he had been moved enough 
by her pleas to sit beside her and give her the opportunity she needed to 
plunge in the needle.

	Dana sincerely hoped that she had at least one more miracle left coming 
to her.  

	The smoke was thicker now, and she could almost hear the flames.

	Somehow, she had to find a way out.

	She flipped her body so that she was once again laying propped up on 
her elbows, and managed a deep breath of the oxygen that still remained in the 
room.  Gritting her teeth in determination she raised herself up and began to 
crawl, her blistered palms throbbing with each brush against the wooden floor.  
Her elbows were so bruised now that they were almost numb but still she 
relentlessly pushed forward, out of the room and down the hall, inch by 
agonizingly slow inch.

	When she reached the top of the stairs, her worst fears were confirmed.  
The fire was already raging on the ground floor;  the smoke was so thick that it 
stung her eyes and scorched her throat.  Even if she were able to find a way to 
negotiate the stairs, there was no possible way that she could ever make it as 
far as the front door.

	There were tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with the runny salt 
of her sweat, but Dana barely noticed.  She could not, would not, perish like 
this.  Not when she still had so much to live for.

	Ryan....

	There had to be a way.  There was always a way.  Don't panic, she 
reminded herself.   Just think, think, think.

	Mulder....

	Her bottom lip was firmly clenched between her teeth as she twisted her 
body and turned back in the other direction.  Her legs were like dead weight as 
they dragged behind her, tangling in the carpet runner and pulling it down the 
hall.  She passed the room that was her prison without a second glance, 
wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and the rapidly 
encroaching fire. 

	The door to Virgil's room loomed before her like a mirage in the desert, 
wavering in her blurry vision but she forced herself to continue, sliding forward 
as though she were a mermaid stranded on dry land.  When she reached the 
room she crawled inside and then shut the door behind her with a powerful 
swing of one outstretched arm.  It wouldn't keep the flames out for long but she 
would take every extra second she could steal.

	Shit, she thought, beginning to sob in earnest now.  It had been easy to 
pretend with Virgil;  the tears had come automatically, part of the game, a 
necessary tactic to lure him close enough to launch her attack.  But the tears 
she shed now were real, fueled by helpless indignation and overwhelming fear.

	She was going to die here.

	Dana collapsed, flat on her back, allowing the tears to flow across her 
cheeks.   There was nothing left to do, no option left unexplored.  She brought a 
hand up to swipe angrily at her eyes and it was then that she saw it.

	The window, unfettered and unbarred.

	Ignoring the pain, she raised her head, contemplating the window.  The 
room was on the second floor.  It was insane to even contemplate.  And yet, it 
was a possibility....

	Her mind was working again, double-time, taking in the chair that now 
lolled on its side by the closed door.  Contemplating the linens that made up 
Virgil's immaculate bed.  

	There was a chance....

	You can do this, Dana told herself.  You can do this.

	You have to do this.

	A groan escaped her as she rolled over and propped herself up once 
more.   Moving slowly, painfully, she made her way over to the fallen chair.  She 
dragged it across the floor and past Virgil's prone body until it lay beneath the 
window.   Laying on her back now, she tilted the chair with both hands until it 
once again stood upright, balanced against the sill.

	Okay then, she thought.  You've started the battle.   Now win the war.

	She brushed her matted hair out of her face and then rolled over once 
more, clawing her way across the floor to the bed.  She yanked the comforter 
aside and then pulled on the top sheet with what remained of her strength until 
it tumbled off the bed and into her hands.  The fitted sheet beneath was tougher 
to remove but somehow she managed it, and then she began the work of tying 
the knots.

	Please, she prayed to whoever might be listening.  Please let this work.  



"The only courage that matters
is the kind that gets you 
from one minute to the next."

- Mignon McLaughlin




CHIAROSCURO 19:  DELIVERANCE  (1/1)
Blueswirl@aol.com
6/98



chiar-oscu-ro:  the quality of being veiled or partly in shadow  (Webster's, 
definition #5)




It was insanity.  Absolute havoc.

	Fire trucks, three of them.  Firemen by the dozen, clad in bright flame-
resistant coveralls with matching face masks, wielding hoses and foam 
canisters.  An ambulance, off to the side, its lights flashing brightly as they spun 
around and around.  Paramedics, standing by should their services be required.  

	It was a macabre inferno that rivaled Fox Mulder's wildest nightmares.  

	Flames leapt towards the smoke-drenched sky that loomed black as 
night over the burning house.  Broken glass and charred pieces of wood and 
debris littered the driveway and the front lawn, some fragments still smoldering 
where they had fallen on the grass. The house was perched precariously on the 
edge of the mountain, its far side surrounded by trees.  Their leaves and 
branches were ablaze as well, ignited by the burning embers pinwheeling 
through the air.  

	Mulder watched helplessly as the fire finished its job of demolishing the 
house, as the firemen fought to extinguish the blaze.  He rocked back and forth 
on the balls of his feet, itching to rush inside despite the fact that he wasn't 
dressed for the occasion.  Flanked by the other agents on the team, Skinner 
stood solemnly beside him like a guard.  If they were all that held him at bay 
Mulder would have brushed them off and rushed inside, heedless of the 
potential danger.  But the place was surrounded, a burning fortress guarded by 
what seemed like an army of firemen intent upon their work.  

	All Mulder could do was stand and wait.

	The waiting was killing him.

	He'd been in a state of agitated anticipation from the moment they 
tracked down the sale of a house in the Kentucky mountains, purchased under 
the name of Virgil Milhouse's deceased mother.  Arranging the travel and 
securing the assistance of other federal agents had gone quickly, but not 
quickly enough for Mulder.  The plane trip had been agony;  the drive had been 
worse.  They hadn't been able to land anywhere near the small town at the foot 
of the mountain, forcing them to drive nearly an hour before they reached the 
summit.  And then Skinner's cell phone had rung, bringing information from the 
chopper pilot they had sent ahead.

	The house was on fire.

	The hope Mulder had been nourishing was nearly incinerated by the 
news.  

	If it would have brought him up the mountain any faster, he would have 
leapt out of the car and run up the winding road that led to Virgil's private oasis.  
Instead he merely sat with his hand clenching the armrest as they raced along 
the narrow stretch of blacktop.  Counting seconds, praying with every one that 
they would not be too late.

	By the time they arrived, the firemen were already hard at work, trying to 
save a house that could no longer be saved, swarming in and out of the house 
like a particularly industrious colony of ants.  Visibility was hampered by the 
ashy smoke and the gathering darkness.  A cacophony of sound swirled around 
them, the rush of pounding water, the babble of numerous voices.  Through it 
all, Mulder waited, the minutes crushing him with the weight of hours.

	The blaze had begun to die down when Mulder spotted two firemen 
headed away from the house.  Between them they bore a stretcher draped with 
a shiny silver blanket and the sight stirred him into action.

	"Mulder!"  Skinner's voice was frantic.   "Mulder!  Hold on, wait a minute!"

	Mulder barely heard him, his feet moving of their own accord towards the 
far end of the driveway.  He brushed his way past the paramedics and was 
beside the firemen in an instant, tearing frantically at the blanket despite their 
protests.  

	The body that was revealed to him was scorched, the skin bubbled and 
blackened.  It was however quite clearly the body of a man.  A large man, by the 
looks of him, in good shape before he was ravaged by the flames.  There was 
no doubt in Mulder's mind that he was gazing down on the shell of Virgil 
Milhouse.   His prey, consumed by the infernal blaze.

	"Where did you find him?"  The words rushed from Mulder's mouth like 
machine gun fire.

	"Upstairs, in the bedroom."

	"Anyone else?"

	"No, sir," one of the men replied.  "We found no one else."

	Mulder felt a steadying hand on his shoulder and turned to see Skinner 
standing there, his expression unyielding but his eyes full of compassion.  

	"There was the remains of a wheelchair, downstairs," the second man 
volunteered.  "But I doubt it belonged to this guy, unless someone carried him 
up to the room."

	The captain stepped forward, his face grave beneath the soot and dirt 
that covered it.  "There's nothing left inside at all.  I'm betting it was deliberately 
set, and whoever did it did a thorough job.   There's almost nothing left in there 
but ash."

	Nothing but ash....

	Mulder wheeled around abruptly and started towards the house, weaving 
through the crowd like a man in a daze.  He hadn't gone ten steps before 
several of the firemen were on him, pulling him back.  

	"Hey!   You can't go in there!"

	Mulder fought with them blindly, furiously, raging like a tiger in a cage. 
"Get your goddamn hands off me!   Back off!"  He was choking, struggling to 
breathe in the smoky air, but it didn't matter.  Nothing mattered now.  

	"Mulder!"  Skinner nearly had to shout to be heard over the commotion.  
"There's no one in there!   Listen to me.  She's not in there."   

	"How do you know?  How do they know?"  Anger rushed over him in a 
wave born of frustration.  "We have to keep looking, dammit, we have to be sure 
--"

	"We will," Skinner declared, pushing past the firemen to grip Mulder 
firmly by the shoulders.  "We will.  But I need you to keep it together.  I need you 
on this."  He paused, then added, "Dana needs you on this."

	Mulder could read the plea in Skinner's eyes.  Don't do this.  Don't fuck 
this up.  

	"I'm on it," he finally muttered, and his words sounded sincere enough to 
convince them to release him.  

	"We'll let you in as soon as its clear," the captain informed him, and 
Mulder acknowledged the information with a nod of his head.  As the firemen 
went back to work, Skinner stepped forward as if to say something more, but 
Mulder brushed him aside with a wave of his hand and walked away.  

	Nothing but ash....

	Desperately needing some space, Mulder crossed the lawn until he was 
facing the far side of the property.   Alone, at least for the moment, he buried his 
face in his hands, heedless of the black soot that covered his fingers.   A deep 
shuddering breath rocked him as he whispered her name.  

	"Dana...."

	He swallowed once, hard, and then dropped his hands, forcing his eyes 
open.  He stared bleakly up at the charred, smoking remains of the house.  And 
it was then that he saw it.

	A torn piece of white cloth, caught on the edge of a windowsill on the top 
floor.  It dangled there, bright against the dark sky, blowing in the breeze like a 
flag of surrender.  

	Mulder's eyes traveled from the scrap of fabric down the side of the 
house, to the shattered remains of the wooden deck that had once clearly 
offered a panoramic view of the mountainside.  Seized by a sudden impulse he 
started to run, making his way to the edge of the cliff where the ground dropped 
off into nothingness.

	"Dana!"

	He paid no attention to the debris falling around him from the still 
smoldering trees, dropping to his hands and knees as he peered over the edge.  
From here it was apparent that the drop was not as severe as it seemed from a 
distance;  the ground sloped down gradually for several hundred feet before 
falling away entirely.  Bushes and shrubs covered every inch of land, forming a 
tangled mat of greenery through which little was visible.

	Bracing himself with his hand Mulder angled his body to slide down the 
slope, his feet kicking up rocks and dirt with every step.  He could hear Skinner 
and the other agents behind him, calling after him, but he did not stop.  His eyes 
searched the encroaching darkness frantically as he shouted her name over 
and over.

	"Dana!"

	A glint of white caught his eye amidst the greenery and he clawed his 
way towards it like a madman.  He moved forward, guided by unexpected 
signposts.  A length of bed linen, twisted like a rope by virtue of several well-
placed knots.  A shredded piece of jersey fabric caught in the bushes.  A trail of 
broken branches strewn in the dirt.

	And then he saw her.

	His wife.

	She was face down on the ground, and lay silent and motionless.  Her 
head was turned slightly to the side facing away from him.  One arm was pinned 
beneath her body, the other outstretched, revealing jagged holes torn in her 
long-sleeved tee shirt.  Her legs were splayed behind her, bare feet peeking out 
from beneath dirty sweat pants.  

	"Dana!"	

	Mulder was with her in an instant, fighting down panic as he knelt down 
beside her.  Her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted but it didn't 
seem like she was breathing.  He raised two trembling fingers to the side of her 
neck, and waited.  He could feel her pulse pounding beneath her skin.  It was 
faint, but it was there, and the discovery brought tears to his eyes.   She was 
alive.

	"Skinner!"  He got to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth to 
amplify his shout.  "*Skinner*!   I need the paramedics down here, *now*!   I 
found her!   I found her!"

	He heard Skinner's answering yell and then turned his attention back to 
his wife.  Mulder forced himself to remain calm, to resist the urge to sweep her 
into his arms and hold her close, well aware of how dangerous it was to move 
her without knowing if she was injured.  He stripped off his FBI windbreaker and 
covered her with it, and then lay down beside her.  He raised a gentle hand to 
her face and brushed aside the tangled strands of red hair that were draped 
across her cheek with an awe that bordered on disbelief.  

	Her eyes fluttered slightly, but they did not open.  Still, it was enough for 
Mulder.

	"Dana...." he murmured.  "My Dana."  

	It was then that his tears began to fall.  



"The best way out is always through."

- Robert Frost




CHIAROSCURO 20:  REUNION  (1/1)
Blueswirl@aol.com
6/98



chiar-oscu-ro:  the quality of being veiled or partly in shadow  (Webster's, 
definition #5)



"I want to go on a business trip."

	At the moment, there wasn't anything that Ryan Mulder wanted to do 
more.  The way he saw it, business trips were kind of like your birthday and 
Christmas all rolled into one.  When you came back from a business trip you got 
to go to the hospital and lay in one of those cool beds that went up and down 
when you pushed a button.  His bed at home wasn't nearly as much fun.  

	And then after the hospital there was cake.  When his daddy came home 
they had chocolate cake for dinner, and today his grandmother had been in the 
kitchen all afternoon making a yellow one.  There wasn't anything Ryan loved 
more than cake, and he didn't want to have to wait until his next birthday to have 
more.  And if he got to lay in one of those special beds all by himself it would be 
the best thing ever.  But that didn't seem like it would happen unless he went on 
a business trip, so he decided he'd better get started.

	"Grandma," he repeated, "I want to go on a business trip."

	"You will, sweetie," she called to him from the kitchen.  "When you're all 
grown up, you will."

	"But I want to go on one *now*."  Ryan frowned.  "I'm all grown up now."

	Uncle Walter laughed, putting down the newspaper that he had been 
reading.  "You're not grown up enough."

	"Yes I am," Ryan insisted, holding up his red backpack as evidence.  "I'm 
all grown up and I packed all my stuff."  His backpack was full of everything he 
needed.   Two of his favorite model trains, his very best crayons, his basketball, 
and his bunny rabbit.  The backpack wouldn't shut all the way with the bunny at 
the top but Ryan didn't care.  He wasn't going anywhere without George.

	"You won't be all grown up until you're as tall as me," Uncle Walter 
declared, rising from the chair until he was as big as a giant.  "And you're not 
quite there yet."

	"I am," Ryan declared.  "Almost.  By tomorrow, I will be."

	"Well then," Grandma said as she walked into the room, "you can leave 
tomorrow.  How's that?"

	Looking up, Ryan saw his grandmother and Uncle Walter share a smile.  
He didn't think they were being fair but they seemed really happy so he decided 
not to argue.  If they stayed happy he could probably get a second piece of 
cake, and that would be almost as good as a business trip.

	"Okay," he answered.  "I'll go tomorrow."   He dropped his backpack on 
the floor and looked around the room.  It was decorated with streamers and 
balloons and a banner that he had colored with his magic markers.  The banner 
said 'Welcome Home, Mommy' in big letters -- Ryan couldn't print them yet, but 
he could read them just fine. Grandma had done the printing and he had filled 
them in with all of his favorite colors.  

	"I like our sign, Grandma," he announced.  "Do you think Mommy will like 
it?"

	"I think she'll love it, sweetie."

	"I'm not a sweetie."  Ryan stuck out his tongue and crouched down on his 
hands and knees.  He took a deep breath and then tried another handstand.  
He'd been practicing them forever but he still couldn't do them the way that 
Jenny could.  Jenny was the best handstand girl in his kindergarten class.  

	Taking a deep breath he shifted his weight to his hands and pushed his 
body forward.  He was up, up, up.....and then he came crashing down.

	"Ryan!  Stop horsing around in the house!"

	Ryan fell over onto his back with an anguished groan.  It really made him 
mad that Jenny was better at handstands than he was.   And his grandmother 
just didn't understand how important it was to practice.

	"Gr-and-ma...."

	"Just sit still for a few minutes,"  Grandma ordered, and Ryan tried as hard 
as he could, climbing up on the couch and sinking down in the cushions.  He 
tried to sit still like a real grownup and was doing a pretty good job until he 
heard the sound of the car in the drive.

	"Mommy's home!"

	As sad as he was that his mother was leaving the hospital and its 
wonderful magical bed, he was very happy to have her back home.  Now 
maybe he wouldn't have to spend every afternoon with his grandmother.   Now 
maybe things would go back to normal and it would just be the three of them 
together all the time.

	"Mommy's home!"

	He was so excited that he ran straight for the door and stood there 
watching as it opened.  His father was the one who pushed it open, holding the 
knob with his keys still in one hand.  His mother was standing right beside him, 
a happy smile on her face.

	"Hi Mommy!"  Ryan was so excited that the words just tumbled out of his 
mouth.  "You're home!   We made you a banner -- see?  And Grandma made 
cake."

	"That's terrific!"  His mother stepped through the doorway and leaned 
over to give him a big hug.  "Did you help Grandma with the cake?"

	"No," Ryan replied.  "I had to practice my handstands."  He tugged on his 
mother's hand insistently.  "You have to look at the banner, Mommy.  I colored 
on it with all my best pens."

	"You did a great job," she announced after looking closely at the sign.  
"It's beautiful.  I think it's probably the best banner ever."

	"It is."  Ryan grinned, happy that she was pleased.  It was then that he 
noticed the cane in his mother's hand, and the way that she leaned on it as she 
made her way over to the couch.  "Hey, Mommy -- did you steal that cane from 
the hospital?"

	"No," she said, shaking her head.  "I'm just borrowing it for a little while."  
She sank down on the couch and smiled at him.  "Just for a little while."

	"Cool," Ryan announced.  "Can I see it?"  Without waiting for an answer, 
he grabbed it from where she had leaned it against the table and raised it in his 
hand. 

	"Ryan, put that down," his father demanded.

	"It's okay," his mother said.  "He can play with it.  Just be careful, Ryan, 
and don't hit anything with it."

	"I won't," Ryan promised, already thinking about what a good sword it 
would make.  As his grandmother and Uncle Walter gave his mother hugs and 
kisses, he raised the cane off the ground and twirled it in a little circle.  It was 
almost as tall as he was, which would make it a really mighty sword.  Maybe if 
he was really good Mommy would let him take it out to the backyard.  

	"Hey, big guy."  Ryan looked up at the sound of his father's voice.  "You 
want to go and get your surprise for Mommy?"

	"Oh!"  The surprise.  Ryan grinned.  He had almost forgotten.  "Okay," he 
replied, dropping the cane to the floor and racing towards the stairs.  Halfway 
there he turned around and added in a loud whisper, "Daddy, which one should 
I bring?"

	"Whichever one you want," his father answered, giving him a wink and a 
smile.

	"Okay," he said, and ran up the stairs as fast as he could.  When he 
reached his bedroom he went straight to the bookshelf by the window and 
pulled out three of his favorite books.  He looked at the shelf, and then yanked 
out a fourth one, and put one of the first ones back.  These were the best, he 
decided.  He would bring these, and let Mommy choose.

	When he got back downstairs, Ryan found everyone sitting down in the 
living room except for Uncle Walter, who was standing and twisting the top of a 
big green bottle that he held in his hands.  The bottle top came off with a loud 
pop that made everyone laugh, probably because the stuff in the bottle was 
running out and down the sides in a rush of clear bubbly liquid.  It was dripping 
on the carpet, but no one seemed to care, which made Ryan feel a little better 
about the fingerpaint he had spilled earlier on the rug in his room.

	Ryan watched as Uncle Walter finished pouring the contents of the bottle 
into tall skinny glasses and passed them around.  "Can I have one?"  he finally 
asked, curiosity having gotten the better of him.

	"Not one of these," his father replied.  "But you can have some apple 
juice, if you want."

	"Okay," Ryan agreed.  If everyone was going to have a glass, he wanted 
one too.  He was a little disappointed when his father brought him his juice in a 
plastic cup, but his good spirits returned when his mother patted the spot on the 
couch next to her.

	"Come up here," she said, "and sit next to me."

	Ryan dropped his books on the carpet and climbed up on the couch, 
taking the plastic cup from his father.

	"Everybody ready?"  Uncle Walter asked, and when everybody nodded, 
Ryan did the same.  

	"Let's hear it for happy homecomings and safe returns," Uncle Walter 
declared, and raised his glass.  Ryan watched as his mother and father and 
grandmother did the same, so he raised his cup as well.   All of the glasses 
clinked together with a tinkly sound that was just a little bit hollow where they hit 
his cup.

	"Cheers," Grandma said, and Ryan heard his parents say the same thing.  
Then everyone drank, so he did too.  There was nothing better than apple juice.  
Well, except maybe for cake.

	After that there was just a lot of staring and smiling and Ryan felt a little 
silly.  "Can we do the surprise now?"

	"Of course," his mother replied, putting her glass down on the coffee 
table.  "What's the surprise?"

	Ryan put down his cup and gathered up his books.  "This is the surprise."  
He handed her the books.  "You have to pick one."

	She gave him a suspicious glance.  "Why do I have to pick one?"

	"Because!"  Ryan beamed.  He couldn't help it.  He was too excited.  
"Because I always pick the ones for you to read to me.  So this time *you* get to 
pick, and *I* get to read."  

	"What?"  His mother's blue eyes opened wide and Ryan knew that the 
surprise had worked.  

	"I can do it, Mommy.  I can read, at least these books."   He looked up at 
his father and saw the approval in his grin.  "Daddy's been helping me."

	When Ryan turned back to his mother, he saw that there were tears in her 
eyes.  "Mommy!" he said with some alarm.  He hadn't meant to make her cry.  
"You don't have to pick, if you don't want to.  Really!  I can pick one for you."

	"I don't want you to pick one," she told him, her words coming out all 
sniffly and small.  "I want to hear you read them all.  Every single one.  But first, I 
want you to give me a hug."

	"Okay," Ryan agreed, and leaned into his mother's outstretched arms.  
She kissed him on the forehead and squeezed him tight and it felt good, soft 
and warm and safe.  He was pretty sure that his Mommy gave the best hugs in 
the whole world.  When she finally let him go, he could see that she was still 
crying, but the smile on her face made them seem like happy tears.

	"Mommy," Ryan declared, "I'm really glad you like your surprise."



"Birds sing after a storm;
why shouldn't people feel as free
to delight in whatever remains to them?"

- Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy

	


CHIAROSCURO 21:  EXULTATION  (1/2)  NC-17
Blueswirl@aol.com
6/98



chiar-oscu-ro:  the quality of being veiled or partly in shadow  (Webster's, 
definition #5)



Fox Mulder put the last of the cake plates into the dishwasher.  Dumping in a 
healthy amount of detergent, he set the dials and then pushed the power button.  
The machine started up with a soothing low-pitched whir.

	Finished with the last of the clean up chores, Mulder switched off the 
lights in the kitchen and then did the same in the other rooms on the ground 
floor.  He checked the locks on the front door one last time, just to be sure, and 
then headed up the stairs.

	He could hear Ryan's voice before he reached the landing.  An amused 
smile crossed his face as he realized that it had to easily be the sixth time that 
evening that his son had read this particular story aloud.  It was, as Ryan was so 
fond of declaring, his 'very favorite', so the constant recitation came as no 
surprise.  Still, Mulder mused, even the most devoted listener would eventually 
grow tired of "Green Eggs and Ham". 

	Mulder moved quietly down the hall until he was standing in the doorway 
of his son's room.  His silence was deliberate, designed to feed the recurring 
hunger he often had to merely observe the beauty of the interaction between his 
wife and his child.

	Ryan was ensconced comfortably under his train-illustrated flannel 
sheets, his stuffed bunny rabbit tucked in beside him.  He held the book open 
on his lap, its pages pressed flat beneath the weight of his small palms.  His 
forehead was crinkled in concentration as he sounded out each of the words.  It 
was obvious that he was actually reading, and not merely repeating the text for 
memory.  Watching him, Mulder felt an inordinate sense of pride.

	If the look on her face was any indication, his wife was feeling exactly the 
same way.  Dana was seated on the edge of the bed, her back resting against 
the headboard.  One arm was protectively draped around Ryan's shoulders, 
and she used the other to turn each page for him as he continued to read.  

	It was near the end of this particular rendition of the Dr. Seuss classic that 
Dana raised her head.  Glancing back over her shoulder she spotted him 
standing in the hollow of the doorway, and the twinkle in her eyes made Mulder 
suspect that she knew he'd been there all along.  

	When Ryan finished the last page, a triumphant grin bloomed on his face.  
"That's it, Mommy," he crowed.  "That's the end!"

	"That it is," she agreed.  "And now it's time for bed."

	"Not yet," he shook his head.  "Let's read another one."

	Mulder took the opportunity to announce his presence.  "No more 
reading for you tonight, big guy."  He entered the room and came to stand 
beside the bed.  "You need to get some sleep.  And Mommy and Daddy do too."

	Dana looked up at his words, one eyebrow raised in the signature 
gesture she used to convey so many different thoughts.  There was something 
about the way she wielded it now that was suggestive enough to send a hot 
flush racing down his spine.  "Daddy's right," she said, and Mulder was 
impressed by the level tone of her voice.  "We can read more tomorrow."

	Ryan sighed his trademark sigh of resignation.  "Tomorrow's so far 
away," he complained as he handed over the book and scooted down under 
the covers.

	"Not so far away," Dana countered as she rose from her perch on the 
edge of the bed.  She handled the simple movement with grace, but Mulder still 
detected the barest hint of strain in her face as she leaned over to give Ryan a 
kiss. 

	He kept a close eye on her, on the progress that she was making as she 
put the ordeal she had survived ever further behind her.  The damage that Virgil 
had inflicted upon her had been severe, but as it turned out, more psychological 
than physical.  Without the daily injections of the drug, Dana had quickly 
regained feeling in her lower body.  But the recovery time had been slow, three 
long weeks of physical therapy before her doctor had deemed her strong 
enough to leave the hospital.  Mulder still felt the horror that had overwhelmed 
him when he first learned of what she had endured, and had not yet managed 
to quench the guilt he felt about his role in her suffering.

	It was hard, even now, to put the rage and anger behind him.  Part of 
Mulder couldn't help wishing that Virgil had survived the fire, so that he could 
have the satisfaction of killing the man himself. 

	 "Goodnight, sweetheart."  Dana kissed Ryan and placed another little 
kiss on his bunny's stuffed head.  

	" 'Night, Mommy," he said with a yawn, pulling the bunny even closer.  " 
'Night, Daddy."

	Dana moved aside as Mulder bent over to tousle his son's hair.  "Sleep 
well, Ry."  He gave his son a kiss and tucked the blankets up over his shoulders.  

	He followed his wife towards the door and was about to turn out the light 
when Ryan called out to him.

	"Daddy?"

	"Yes?"  Mulder glanced back over his shoulder and found Ryan's wide 
blue eyes fixed on the closet door on the opposite side of the room.

	"I think you better get the goo detector."

	"Ryan -- "

	"Daddy, you have to get it.  You *have* to."

	" 'Goo detector' ?"  Dana gave him a quizzical look that was not without 
mirth.

	Mulder shrugged and was about to explain when his son did it for him.

	"The goo detector checks for goo.  And finds it and gets rid of it."  Ryan 
frowned,  pointing at his bunny.  "George doesn't like any goo around when 
he's sleeping."

	"It's my flashlight," Mulder clarified in a murmur designed for his wife's 
ears only.  "See, they were running the original 'Blob' on cable the other day, 
and --"

	"Don't even try," Dana said, holding up her hand palm out as though to 
ward off further discussion, a rueful smile on her face.  "You handle the goo 
situation.  I'm going to go get ready for bed."

	"You've got a deal," Mulder replied, giving her a quick kiss as she 
headed towards their bedroom.  He stepped into the hallway and retrieved the 
flashlight from the hall closet.  Back in Ryan's room, he turned on the flashlight 
and then switched off the overhead light.  

	"Okay, kiddo," he declared.  "Time for a little goo detecting."

	By the time he finished checking every nook and cranny for possible goo 
invasion, Ryan was already sound asleep.   Mulder adjusted the bedcovers one 
final time and then quietly shut the door.

	He reached the master bedroom to find it empty, save the sound of 
running water from the connecting bathroom.  The light from the lamp on the 
bedside table spilled across the carpet to intersect with a faint glimmer from 
behind the half-closed bathroom door.  Mulder sank down onto the bed, kicking 
off his shoes.  He listened to the noises coming from the bathroom, the clink of 
bottles, the squeak of faucets, comforted by their very familiarity.  A wave of 
contentment washed over him as he sat, bathed in the simple joy of having the 
people he loved most safe at home.   

	The water stopped running, and then Dana called to him in a soft voice.  
"Mulder?  Did you finish your flashlight mission?"

	"The room's been cleared of any and all goo," Mulder reported wryly.   
"And the big guy is down for the count."

	"Good to know," she replied.  "Good to know." 

	Mulder heard the flick of the bathroom lightswitch and the room grew 
dimmer.  He turned his head as she exited the bathroom, prepared to greet her 
with a warm smile, but his first glimpse of her stole his breath away.

	At first the shadows tricked him, made him think that she was standing 
there naked, wreathed in darkness.  As she moved towards him, crossing the 
pool of light cast by the bedside lamp, he saw her more clearly.  She wore a 
breathtakingly fragile negligee that draped her body in the sheerest of fabric.  
The floor length gown caressed her curves, dipping in at her narrow waist and 
then flaring slightly to hug her hips.  The swell of her breasts pressed against 
the bodice, their nipples taut and visible through the elegant lace.  Her hair was 
swept back, its coppery strands just brushing the top of her pale, creamy 
shoulders.  Her face glowed in the faint light, illuminated by a brilliant smile.   

	She stopped in the middle of the room and Mulder rose to his feet, his 
breath caught in his chest as he gazed at her.  His palms were damp with sweat 
as he fought for words.

	"Dana..... God."  He swallowed, bringing moisture to his dry throat.  "You 
look...."

	"You like?"  She indicated the negligee with a wave of her hand.  

	"Oh, yeah," he managed, taking in every inch of the pale peach gown.  
He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his wife in this kind of sexy 
nightwear.  Her taste tended more towards silk pajamas, which she had worn 
almost exclusively after the birth of their son made sleeping in the nude a less 
regular occurrence. "When did you..."

	"When you were gone.  I bought it for you," she whispered, her smile 
dissolving into a more solemn expression.  "So I'd have it, when you got back."

	"For me," he said, a powerful wave of love and longing sweeping over 
him.

	"For you," she echoed, moving forward once again to close the distance 
between them.  He simply stood and watched, feeling the fear and anxiety and 
anguish that had consumed him these past weeks fade away with each 
successive step.  She was limping slightly, favoring her left leg, but Mulder 
hardly noticed.  She was lovely, perfect, amazing, beautiful.  

	To him, she was everything.

	When she reached him, he took her in his arms and held her close.  He 
drew in a deep breath, drinking in the faint scent of her perfume and the sweet 
smell of her skin.  The crown of her hair just brushed his chin as he tucked her 
against him and sighed.

	"I love you, Dana.  God, I love you."

	She pulled back and gazed up at him.  What he saw in her eyes was a 
fascinating blend of acceptance, love, and unbridled arousal.  She reached up 
and twined her arms around his neck, pulling him close.  "I love you too," she 
murmured, and then she pressed her lips to his.  



end "Chiaroscuro 21:  Exultation" part 1 of 2





CHIAROSCURO 21:  EXULTATION  (2/2)  NC-17
Blueswirl@aol.com
6/98



chiar-oscu-ro:  the quality of being veiled or partly in shadow  (Webster's, 
definition #5)



Dana Scully kissed her husband boldly, taking the lead, devouring his mouth 
with hers hungrily, almost ferociously.  

	She had waited far too long.  

	She had been patient far too long.  

	And she told him so with her tongue as she slid it between his lips.  With 
her hands, as she caressed his neck and twined her fingers in his hair.  With her 
body, as she pressed it against his, feeling his street clothes rough and cool 
against her nearly bare skin.

	Mulder returned her kisses and caresses with equal ardor, one hand 
running up and down the length of her back, the other cradling her head, his 
thumb gently tracing the outline of her ear.  

	He didn't break off the kiss until they were both breathless with it.   Dana 
opened her eyes to see him gazing down at her, his deep green eyes filled with 
longing and regret.  

	"Dana....." Her name was the barest of whispers.  "We shouldn't....."

	She knew him too well.  Knew how fond he was of guilt and self-
flagellation.  How willing he was to deny himself anything if it meant protecting 
her.  But tonight there was no room for denial, and she was determined to make 
him understand.

	"Mulder."  Dana brought one of her hands up to cup his cheek.  "You 
disappeared in August.  The second week of August.  And now, it's eleven days 
until Christmas."  She flashed him a coy smile.  "Don't tell me that you haven't 
missed me as much as I've missed you."

	"Oh, there's no doubt about that."  He brushed her lips with a kiss.  "No 
doubt whatsoever.  But you've only just come back from the hospital.  The 
doctor said -- "

	"The doctor said I'm fine," she finished, cutting him off.  "I'm an outpatient 
now, remember?  Besides," she added in a deliberately seductive tone, "I didn't 
get a gold star in therapy for nothing.  I had a specific goal in mind."

	"Ah." Now it was Mulder who was smiling, a mischievous smile that 
erased some of the pain she had glimpsed in his eyes.  "A specific goal.  I 
wonder what that would be."

	"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

	"I'll take that as a challenge."  Mulder dipped his eyes, allowing them to 
roam freely over her body.  Dana could feel the searing heat of his gaze like a 
physical touch.  He raised his hand to her chest and allowed a single finger to 
dance slowly along the curve of her breasts.  Desire ravaged her as she 
watched him touch her, as she watched his cheeks flush and his eyes darken 
with arousal.  

	He looked up at her, finally, a last question on his lips.  "Are you sure 
you're okay?"

	"I'm fine," she promised.  "Really."

	The last traces of worry slipped from his face and he smiled again, a 
darker, sexier smile.  "Then I guess I should open my present."  

	Mulder hooked one finger under the thin strap that rested on her right 
shoulder, tugging it gently.  "The thing about presents," he mused, his eyes on 
her chest, "is that it's so difficult to decide how to open them."  As though to 
prove his point, he released his hold on the strap and brought his hand down to 
the bodice of the negligee.  A shiny length of satin ribbon held the bodice 
closed and he deftly unfurled it.  The fabric parted gently, baring her breasts to 
his gaze.

	"I mean, you can open them slowly," he continued, bringing both of his 
hands up to cup her breasts.  "Preserve the suspense."  He teased her nipples 
with his thumbs and an anguished sigh escaped her lips.  

	Dana watched him quietly, her passion building.  He was her dark prince, 
in his black turtleneck and jeans.  He was her white knight, the light in his eyes 
burning bright enough to bleach the shadows from the room.  

	"On the other hand, sometimes it's more fun just to rip them open."

	His eyes flickered up to meet hers and the fierce hunger that she saw 
there made her tremble.

	"Come here," he said, offering her his hand, and Dana did not argue, 
allowing him to guide her over to the bed.  She waited as he pulled back the 
comforter and then she lay down on top of the sheets, nestling her head against 
the pillows.  Mulder didn't take his eyes from hers as he backed away from the 
bed.  Slowly, he pulled the turtleneck up and over his head, leaving his hair a 
rumpled, tousled mess.  He unfastened the buttons on his faded jeans, sliding 
them down and kicking them off along with his boxers.

	She lay still, drinking in his beautiful body as it was revealed inch by 
precious inch.  The bodice of her gown still hung open, and she ached to rub 
her throbbing nipples against his bare chest.  Her breathing was loud in her 
ears as she whispered his name.

	As though in defiance of her plea, he moved towards her with agonizing 
slowness.  He sank down beside her on the bed, his cock already hard and 
erect.  Dana reached for him but he shook his head, stilling her hand.  "It's still 
my turn," he murmured, and she acquiesced, dropping her hand down on the 
cotton sheet.

	Leaning over her, Mulder pulled down the straps on both sides of the 
gown, brushing gentle kisses on her shoulders as he did so.  He placed another 
kiss in the valley between her breasts, and then sat back to admire his 
handiwork.   "Seems to me I'm going about this the wrong way."  His voice was 
low and dark, and she waited to see what he would do.

	Her unspoken question was answered as he scooted toward the end of 
the bed.  He took her right foot in his hand and raised it to his lips.  He placed a 
kiss on her instep and she shivered with pleasure, curling her toes.  Attracted by 
their motion, he ran his tongue across each of them, suckling them, and she 
writhed against the bed.  

	"God, Mulder..... that feels so good."

	"I'm glad," he said, and their eyes met in a moment of unspoken 
communion.  

	He placed her foot back down on the bed and reached for the hem of her 
gown.  Taking his cue, Dana bent her legs slightly and allowed him to glide the 
gown upwards.  The satin slid smoothly up over her skin with an erotic whisper 
that faded as the fabric pooled around her waist.  His hands were warm and 
damp where they touched her thighs, spreading them and pinning them open.  

	Dana waited until she felt his mouth against her, hot and wet and hungry, 
before she closed her eyes.  His tongue teased her, searching her moist depths 
until he found her innermost core.  His lips seized up on her clitoris and suckled 
her, making her hips buck against his face, the barest shadow of razor stubble 
scratching her thighs.  

	"Oh, yes....."

	Her fingers clenched into fists, balling up the sheet on which she lay as 
she quivered with the pleasure of this most intimate embrace.  Her head twisted 
against the pillow, strands of hair catching in her mouth as she moaned 
helplessly, caught in an excruciating web of tension and desire.

	"Mulder, please...."

	Release crashed down on her with a thundering roar, her body 
thrumming with soaring ecstasy and unbridled joy.  She was still shaking in the 
aftermath when he kissed her, his lips sweetened by her own flowing juices.

	Dana opened her eyes to see him gazing down at her like a vigilant 
sentinel standing guard over her pleasure.  He brought a reverent hand up to 
caress her cheek, brushing the damp strands of hair away from her face.  She 
smiled at him tenderly.  "I want you, Mulder," she breathed.  "Now."

	He nodded, and then gathered her crumpled negligee in both hands.  
Dana raised her arms and arched her back, enabling him to pull it up and over 
her head.  He let the fabric fall to the floor and then moved until he hovered over 
her, balanced on his elbows.  She shifted her legs until she was straddling him, 
his cock poised at her entrance.  

	"I love you," he whispered, as he slid into her.

	Dana gasped as he filled her, assaulted by a new rush of sensation.  She 
twined her arms around his back, pulling him closer, bringing him deeper.  
When he was buried in her to the hilt, he thrust against her once and then 
pulled back, almost all the way out.  He slid in again harder, more forcefully, and 
a soft cry escaped her lips.  

	"Shhhhh," Mulder teased, brushing a hand over her mouth.  "You don't 
want to wake the baby."

	A blissful smile crossed her face at the familiar words that called to mind 
so many other nights with him, in this bed.  Their shared past, their history.  "I'll 
keep it down," she promised, kissing the tips of his fingers.  "As long as you 
keep it up."

	"Your wish is my command," he grinned, punctuating his words with 
another thrust of his hips.    

	Rational thought fled her mind as they rocked together, their bodies 
tangling in a passionate frenzy.  Everything blurred into a dizzying combination 
of touches and caresses and kisses as familiar territories were explored and 
new discoveries were made.  It was a private celebration of torrid passion and 
undying love, a reunion rendered all the more precious by long weeks of 
anticipation.  

	It was a simple, perfect union, their circle once again unbroken.  

	Dana wasn't sure how many times she had come, having lost the ability 
to count by the time Mulder finished with a jubilant cry.  He collapsed against 
her and they lay entwined for a long moment before he finally pulled out.  

	Mulder rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, tucking her against him 
and holding her close.   Nestled in his arms, Dana closed her eyes, feeling limp 
and utterly satiated.  This, she knew, was everything.  Everything that she would 
ever want or need.

	She felt his lips on the back of her neck, a soft, tender kiss.

	"Welcome home, Dana," he murmured.  "Welcome home."



"I am incapable of conceiving infinity,
and yet I do not accept finity.
I want this adventure that is the context of my life
to go on without end."

- Simone De Beauvoir



Thanks for reading.  Feedback *always* appreciated at Blueswirl@aol.com.


= The Blueswirl Stories =

Revolving Satellites
Platonic
Tangible
Inadequate
Chiaroscuro
Chiaroscuro 2:    Interlude
Chiaroscuro 3:    Covenant
Chiaroscuro 4:    Inversion
Chiaroscuro 5:    Courage
Chiaroscuro 6:    Devotion
Chiaroscuro 7:    Simplicity
Chiaroscuro 8:    Supplication
Chiaroscuro 9:    Commencement
Chiaroscuro 10:  Terror
Chiaroscuro 11:  Resurrection
Chiaroscuro 12:  Exploration
Chiaroscuro 13:  Contemplation
Chiaroscuro 14:  Patience
Chiaroscuro 15:  Fortitude
Chiaroscuro 16:  Veracity
Chiaroscuro 17:  Absolution
Chiaroscuro 18:  Desperation
Chiaroscuro 19:  Deliverance
Chiaroscuro 20:  Reunion
Chiaroscuro 21:  Exultation