TITLE:  Into the Night
SPOILER STATEMENT:  Biogenesis
RATING:  NC-17
CONTENT STATEMENT:  M/S married.  MulderAngst.  ScullyAngst.  Explicit sex.
CLASSIFICATION:  VRA
SUMMARY:   Post-ep for Biogenesis.  A "Making It Personal" story. 
Scully arrives home from her trip to Africa, and is reunited with
Mulder.  But all is decidedly not well, and Scully is finally forced to
make an irrevocable decision.
THANKS:  To Brynna, Paulette, Robbie, Shannon, Sharon & Trixie
 

Into the Night

by Brandon D. Ray
 

"How is he?"

Those are my first words as I finally clear Customs and step forward to
embrace my mother.  Those are the words which have been echoing and
reechoing within my soul for the past three days, ever since I left
Mulder at Georgetown Memorial to go to Africa.

I feel her body stiffen slightly, but whether at my question or at my
touch I cannot tell.  Then she relaxes and her arms go around me, and
for just a moment I'm warm and safe.

My mother has always had this effect on me.  As far back as I can
remember her mere presence has been a comfort to me, her voice and touch
a balm.  Through the years I have come to her when I was troubled, and
although she has not always been able to solve my problems, she has
nevertheless steadied and calmed me, giving me the chance to catch my
breath and find my own solutions.

It was for this reason that I didn't hesitate to call her before I left
for the Ivory Coast, and ask her to look after my husband in my
absence.  Despite the tension caused by my abrupt marriage to Mulder, I
knew that she would be there for me -- and for her son-in-law -- in our
moment of need.

Yet even as I take comfort from my mother's hug, I'm uneasily aware that
she hasn't answered my question.  I keep holding her, and letting her
hold me, waiting for her to respond, but at last I can't wait any
longer, and I draw back a bit to look into her face, but she isn't
giving anything away.

"Mom?" I ask.  "Mom, is something wrong?  Is Mulder --"

"Fox is fine," she says firmly, pulling loose from my embrace and
turning to lead the way towards baggage claim.  I feel unaccountably
cold at her withdrawal, as if she was never really in my arms at all --
and then I grab my carry-on with its precious load of evidence and hurry
after her.  "As well as can be expected, at any rate," she continues as
I catch up with her.  "He was released from the hospital this morning."

"They let him go?" I reply.  "That's wonderful!"  I feel like a little
girl who's just been told that Christmas will be early this year. 
Mulder is okay!  He's been released, and soon I'll get to see him. 
Thank God....

"Dana!"  My mother's voice cuts through my thoughts, bringing my
attention back to her.  She's stopped walking, and is standing in front
of me with her hands on her hips, a grim look on her face.  "Dana, there
are some things we need to talk about, and we may as well do it now,
while I still have your attention."

This doesn't sound like it's going to be a fun conversation, but it
appears that I have little choice.  When Mom gets determined about
something, there's no stopping her.  I make no reply, but gesture
reluctantly for her to continue.

She studies my face for a moment, and then she sighs, and her features
soften slightly as she takes a step closer.  "Dana, first of all, know
that I love you, and so does the rest of the family.  That has never
been in doubt, and it never will be."

She pauses for a moment, and the silence stretches on as she seems to be
unable to find a way to say whatever's on her mind.  Finally, keeping my
voice as steady as I can, I say, "But?"

Another sigh.  "But there are some problems, Dana."  She raises her hand
and quickly adds, "Not with Fox.  As I said, he's doing as well as can
be expected.  The problems are with you."

"Me?" I respond, hating myself for the tremor I manage to put into that
one word.

"Yes, Dana, you.  To be more precise, your relationship with the rest of
the family."

Abruptly everything falls into place, and I realize what's about to
happen.  I've been waiting for this conversation, dreading it, really,
ever since my cancer went into remission.  And suddenly it's two years
ago, and I hear my mother's words echoing inside my head:  //I don't
know why you didn't tell me.  I don't know why you didn't tell me
immediately .... I don't want to be kept in the dark.//

I promised her she wouldn't be; I told her I'd try to keep her better
informed -- not just about my illness, but about my entire life.  And I
tried to do it; I really did.  But so much of my work on the X-Files
would be troubling to my family, and somehow it seemed ... easier ...
just to gloss over a lot of that.  And once I'd started glossing, then
even those things which weren't directly connected to my work became
harder to explain.

Looking into my mother's eyes, I can see that she's recalling at least
some of the same things, and that these memories are even less pleasant
for her than they are for me.

Finally she sighs yet again, and says, "Dana, I know this isn't really
the best time for this --" she glances around at the crowds of people
hurrying past "-- or the best place.  But I've tried for over a year to
find a time and place, and I haven't been able to.  And quite frankly,
I've reached my limit, and I need to get this out.  And so has Bill."

"Bill?  What does he have to do with this?"

"He's here, Dana," she says, weariness evident in her voice.  "He's at
home with Fox right now.  I asked him to come home and help me after you
... left."

I feel my eyes widen in shock and concern.  "But Mom, I gave you the
number for the Gunmen, and --"

She shakes her head sharply.  "Those are *your* friends, Dana -- and I
did call them and they've been very helpful, especially Melvin.  But I
needed someone *I* could trust.  I would have called Charlie, since I
know Bill and Fox don't get along, but Charlie's out on a deployment
right now."

I feel as if the walls are closing in on me, and the abrupt change from
the joy I was feeling only a moment ago is almost enough to give me
vertigo.  I shake my head slowly, not quite able to meet my mother's eyes.

"Mom, I understand what you're saying, but you didn't have any right to
call Bill in on this.  This is --"

"Pardon me?" she responds brusquely.  "I didn't have any *right*?  May I
remind you that *you* called *me* on two hours' notice and asked me to
look after your husband for you?  And that you gave me very little by
way of explanation of where you were going, or why, or even much in the
way of guidance as to what I was supposed to do?  Other than to keep
your supervisor and that Fowley woman away from him, of course."

"Mom -- "

"Which I was able to do, by the way, but *only* because I had Bill there
to help me.  Mr. Skinner wasn't too difficult, but that woman was nearly
impossible."  She shakes her head again, and her tone softens slightly. 
"I'm sorry, Dana; I know this is a difficult time for you --" and
suddenly the edge is back in her voice "-- even if I don't know all the
reasons.  But these matters are going to have to be addressed, for my
own peace of mind if nothing else."

She stands there studying my face for a moment, before she finally turns
on her heel and heads off once more in the direction of baggage claim. 
And after just another instant, I follow.

#          #          #

The ride from the airport to my mother's home passes in silence.  Mom
seems to have said what she wants to say, at least for the moment.  I
don't kid myself that this discussion is over; she has simply given me
her opening statement, and now is apparently allowing me time to digest
it, and perhaps consider a response.

Whether or not that was truly her intention, I spend the drive doing
just exactly that.  As my mother guides the car through midafternoon
traffic, I remember with aching clarity her words last February in my
apartment, on the night she found out the hard way that Mulder and I had
gotten married:

//It's bad enough that you cut me out of this; please don't play stupid
with me as well.//

//You want me to believe that you just woke up one morning and decided
to get married -- and then you simply forgot to tell me?  I'm sorry,
Dana, but I can't believe that.//

//You've been progressively shutting the family out of your life ever
since you joined the FBI, and I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it's
finally come to this.//

And I have to admit that there is some truth in what she said that night
-- but only half the truth.  The other half is that my family started
pushing me out the day I announced my plans to join the Bureau.  Neither
my parents nor either of my brothers ever really understood that
decision.  Only Missy seemed to accept it, and even she didn't grasp why
I chose the FBI.  But at least she understood my need to put some
distance between myself and thesepeople who I dearly loved, but who
sometimes seemed suffocating and controlling when it came to my life and
my choices.

So yeah, Mom, I guess you're right.  Perhaps it is time we had this
out.  I could wish for a better time and place, but that choice seems to
have been taken from me.

I am drawn from my reverie by an odd tingling feeling deep inside me, a
feeling I've experienced only twice before:  the two occasions last week
when I visited Mulder at Georgetown Memorial.  I've given up fighting
this feeling; he's close and somehow I know it.  This is just one of my
many capitulations over the course of the last several days, but unlike
the others this is one I cling to -- because as much as part of me hates
this feeling of dependency, I *need* Mulder, now more than ever before.

A moment or two later we're pulling into the driveway of my mother's
home, coming to a stop next to Mulder's car.  The tingling has now grown
into a steady hum, buzzing lightly inside my head and filtering down to
the rest of my body.  I'm beginning to understand why Mulder was so
distressed over the things he was hearing.  What I'm feeling is barely
noticeable, and pleasant, but it's still distracting.  I can't imagine
what it must have been like for him.

Bill is waiting for us at the doorway, his features grim and remote.  Of
course.  I pause for just an instant, trying to remember the last time I
saw him look otherwise, but I cannot.  I know this can't really be true;
I know my brother and I haven't truly grown so far apart that he hasn't
smiled at me in years.  But right now it feels that way.

"Bill," I say at last, breaking the impasse.  "It's good to see you."

He studies me silenty for a moment longer, then nods briefly.  "You
too," he says, making no move to hug or kiss me.  He jerks his head in
the direction of the living room.  "He's in there."

I want do something.  I don't know what, but I want to reach out to my
brother, and try to break the wall of ice between us.  I should at least
thank him for dropping everything on a moment's notice to take care of a
man he despises.  But the words just aren't there, and finally I simply
nod in return and walk on past Bill into the house.

And finally I'm with Mulder again.

I stand for a moment in the doorway, simply looking at him.  He's
stretched out on my mother's sofa, a light blanket tucked loosely around
him despite the early summer heat.  His eyes are closed, but from the
way the humming inside my head has suddenly intensified I know he's not
asleep.  And then his eyes pop open and he smiles.

"Thought so," he says quietly, mischief dancing in his eyes.

In the space between two heartbeats the universe seems to contract,
until it's a bubble just large enough to contain the two of us.  We've
been in this bubble before -- a few times before we were married and
with growing frequency since then.  In the past, even since our
marriage, it's made me feel a little restless and claustrophobic, but
now it seems just right -- perhaps even a bit larger than it realliy
needs to be.

Fortunately, I know what to do about *that*.

Keeping my expression calm and serene I begin to move across the room in
the direction of my husband.  During this endless journey of perhaps
half a dozen steps Mulder's eyes stay on me, his steady gaze like a
beacon in the darkness.  And with each step I take, the joyful humming
in my head grows stronger.

At last I reach the sofa, and without hesitation I set down my carryon
and drop to my knees.  I reach out with one hand and gently brush a
stray lock of hair from his forehead, just as he slips one arm around my
waist.  And for a minute or two we stay that way, my hand now resting
motionless on his cheek, while his fingertips lightly caress the small
patch of skin where the tail of my blouse has pulled loose from the
waistband of my slacks.

"You really can hear me, can't you?" I say at last, very softly.

He nods slowly.  "Yes, I can."

"That's why you were so cr --"  I almost bite my tongue to keep from
saying that last word, but it's too late.  Fortunately, Mulder seems to
take it well, because his lips quirk and there's a glint of humor in his
eye.

"That's right," he says, nodding slightly.  "That's why I was even
crazier than usual."  His expression turns solemn again.  "I kept
hearing voices, everytime I was near that rubbing.  It was confusing,
and it hurt, and I didn't know where it was coming from or what it
meant.  I still don't know what's causing it, but at least I'm learning
to control it a little."  He smiles slightly.  "It's not as hard as you
might think.  It's sort of like tuning out the conversation at the next
table when you're in a restaurant."

I nod in acknowledgement.  "It sounds like something I could stand to
learn, too," I reply.

"You can hear me, too, can't you?" he asks quietly.  He lifts his hand
off my waist to stroke the side of my head, and I lean into his touch.

"Sort of," I say.  "Not the way you describe; I don't hear voices or
anything, and I don't hear anyone but you -- and even you I only hear
when you're nearby."  I grab his wrist and bring his hand around so I
can kiss his palm.  "All I really get is a sort of buzzing.  Nothing
articulate; just ... I dunno.  Emotions, I guess."  I feel myself
blushing slightly.  "I can tell when you're thinking about me."

"That's pretty much all the time," he murmurs, and he frees his hand and
cups the back of my head, and finally draws me down and kisses me.

I don't know how I survived six years without this.  Having finally
found it, I don't know where I got the strength to walk away from him
and do without it for six long days.  I feel myself sinking into a warm,
erotic haze as his lips press against mine and his tongue strokes and
caresses the inside of my mouth, and the thrumming in my head grows
stronger with each passing second.  Every other thought is driven from
my head as we share a moment of sensual bliss.

Finally, our lips separate.  Eyes closed, I rest my forehead against his
while I catch my breath.  Finally I pull back a little and open my eyes,
to find him looking at me with such open adoration that it almost makes
me cry.

"You could do it because you had to," he says gently, apparently
responding to the questions I was asking myself a few seconds ago.  "You
survived because you're strong -- you're the strongest, most courageous
person I've ever known.  I don't know if I'll ever be able to express to
you the pride I feel at what you've done -- for us, and for our work." 
Then his head drops back on the cushion and he closes his eyes, and in a
few more seconds he's fast asleep.

I continue kneeling by the sofa for a few minutes, trying to digest what
he just said.  Mulder is proud of me?  I know he loves me -- I'm
confident of that, at long, long last.  That he cares about me, is
concerned, values my friendship -- all of these things I also know are
true.

But pride?

I shake my head and allow a smile to touch my lips, and for just a
moment longer I stay by my husband's side, watching him sleep.  He seems
so calm and peaceful now; his face is so untroubled.  A small part of me
wishes he could be like this all the time, but that wouldn't be who he
is.  That wouldn't be the man I fell in love with.

At last I climb wearily to my feet.  It's been a really long day, coming
at the end of a difficult, stress-filled week, with jet lag perched on
top like a large, ungainly cherry.  I want nothing more than to crawl
into bed and sleep for about a week, preferably cuddled up in my
husband's arms, but from the conversation Mom and I had in the car, and
the way Bill was looking at me a few minutes ago, I don't think that's
in the cards.  But at least maybe I can get Mulder upstairs where he'll
be a bit more comfortable -- not to mention being out of the direct line
of fire.

I glance around the room, but neither my brother or my mother are
anywhere to be seen.  Which isn't too surprising, really; whatever other
differences I may have with either of them, they're still decent people,
and they really do love me.  Given their obvious negative feelings, it
was actually very sweet of them to give us a few moments alone.

But it does leave me the problem of getting Mulder upstairs and in bed
unassisted.  Fortunately, it's not the first time in the past six years
I've been faced with this problem.  After a small amount of coaxing he
is sufficiently roused, and allows me to sleepwalk him up the stairs. 
He's had a hard week, too, I remind myself -- not that I ever really
forgot, but my own exhaustion has suddenly become so all-pervasive that
I'm finding it a little hard to focus.

Finally, though, I've maneuvered up the stairs and tucked him into the
bed in my old room.  He smiles up at me sleepily, and whispers,
"Scully," before closing his eyes and dropping back off to sleep.  Once
again I'm sorely tempted just to crawl under the covers next to him.  My
mother and Bill can wait.  This discussion has been building for the
better part of a decade; a few more hours aren't going to matter -- and
I am really tired, and have desperately missed sleeping next to my
husband these past few days.

"I could have helped you, you know."

I jump at the sound of my Bill's voice, then turn deliberately to see
him standing just inside the bedroom doorway, his face cool and
expressionless.  I stand there looking at him for a moment, and finally
I shake my head.

"It's okay," I say.  "I managed fine."  And I walk past him into the
hall.  Of course, he follows.

"Dana!"  I stop at the top of the steps and close my eyes.  This is it,
then.  I take a deep breath, open my eyes again and turn to face my
brother.  "That's always the way it is with you, isn't it?" he says in a
flat tone of voice.  "You're always in control; you never need *or want*
anyone to help you -- no matter how deep the water gets or how close you
get to the edge.  It's always, 'I'm fine, no problem, leave me alone.'"

"What if it is?" I snap, all the repressed tension and exhaustion coming
bubbling out at once.  "What the hell business is it of yours anyway,
Bill?"  I take another deep breath and he tries to interrupt, but
something's just cut loose and I'm on a tear.  "You disappear from my
life for years at a time, and then show up at the critical moments
expecting to second guess the decisions I've made?  Is that how it works?"

"Don't knock it, Dana.  It looks like you could *use* a little advice!"

"You think so, Bill?  You think poor little Dana can't make her own
decisions and manage her own life?"  I take a couple of steps towards
him, my fists clenched at my sides.  "Well guess what?  I've managed
pretty well without your help.  Sure, there were times when it would
have been nice to have a little support for the things I was doing, but
I gave up on that a long time ago!"

"Support, Dana? Which times were you thinking you'd like some support?" 
He starts ticking off items on his fingers.  "When you ditched all the
money Dad spent to put you through medical school to run off and be a
'special agent'?  When you then accepted this assignment to chase little
green men instead of doing serious work?"

He moves forward into my personal space and lowers his voice -- but his
tones are drenched in anger.  "Or maybe you mean when you decided to
*marry* that sorry son of a bitch in there -- without telling anyone,
much less consulting with us.  Just exactly how long have you been
screwing him, anyway?  I've been wondering about that for a long time."

I struggle to suppress the urge to slap him, and a dozen responses flash
through my mind, each more angry and biting than the last.  Finally I
say, "It's always me, Bill.  I'm always the one who has to ask
permission.  You and Charlie -- you picked your careers and your wives
and decided when and whether to have children.  But not me.  Not Dana. 
With me there was always someone standing there, ready to tell me I was
making a mistake or that I was disgracing the family or some damned thing."

I take yet another deep breath, then continue, "Well I'm sick of it,
Bill Scully.  I've had it up to here with your fucking paternalism and
sniping and second guessing."  He tries to speak, but I keep right on
going.  "I've chosen my career, and I'm damned proud of the work I do. 
You will never in your life understand just how important and fulfilling
the pursuit of those 'little green men' is, Bill.  You will never
realize what Mulder and I have accomplished, or what you owe us -- you
and everyone else on this stupid planet."

Now our bodies are almost touching, and I'm staring directly into his
eyes.  "And now I've chosen my husband.  I'm in love with him and he
fulfills me and, and he makes me a whole person.  And if you can't cope
with that, you can just go to hell!"  And I push past him and head back
for the bedroom door.  I've got my hand on the doorknob when he speaks
my name.

"Dana!"

I freeze in place.  A big part of me wants so badly just to go on
through the door and slam it in his face, but I can't quite make myself
do it.  This is my *brother*, I think.  He loves me and he wants the
best for me.

I keep repeating that in my mind as I slowly turn to face him once again
-- and I just have time to recognize the glint of malice in his eyes
before he says, "Have a good fuck."  And then he turns and heads back
down the stairs.

I stand there looking after him for a long minute, my body shaking with
shock and anger.  I'm so very tempted to launch myself after him, and
take out all my rage and frustration on him.  I want to punish him for
stealing the joy I should be feeling at being back home and having my
husband safe and sound and in my arms once again.  Most of all I just
want to beat some sense into Bill, and make him realize what an ass he's
being, and how much his words have hurt me.

But that wouldn't accomplish anything, I realize.  Mulder needs me, and
we have work to do, and that work won't be advanced by getting in a
fistfight with my older brother.  And so I turn back around and reenter
the bedroom.  Mulder is wide awake, of course, although I don't know if
it was our voices or his new ability to hear people's thoughts that woke
him.  He smiles at me, tentatively and uncertainly, and I smile back.

Neither of us says a word as I strip down to my skin and crawl in bed
next to him.  Mulder gathers me into his arms and tucks my head beneath
his chin.  I want to cry, but I've never been good at that, and so at
last I just close my eyes and let his touch relax me.  Now that I'm no
longer focused on Bill I can feel that comforting hum of Mulder's
presence, and in another few minutes I'm fast asleep.

#          #          #

When I awaken again the sun has set.  The sky outside the bedroom window
has turned the royal blue of early evening, and shadows have invaded the
room, making eerie patterns on the wall.  I'm drowsily reminded of all
the times I woke up in this room when I was a teenager -- before Mulder,
before the X-Files, before the Bureau.  Even before college and medical
school.

Those were good years, I think, still only half awake.  Those were
family years.  My father and Missy were still alive, my mother was
someone I could go to with all my troubles, Charlie was the closest of
all my siblings -- even Bill seemed to fill an essential role, despite
his overbearing ways.  A small part of me misses those years, that sense
of completeness and belonging.

But that was more than half a lifetime ago, I remind myself, and there's
no turning back the clock, even if I wanted to, which I really don't. 
Going back would mean giving up who I've become, and all the things I've
seen and thought and done.  No matter how terrible and heartbreaking
some of those things have been, they led me in the end to Mulder, and I
would never even consider giving him up.

No matter what the cost.

Still not completely awake, I force my attention back to the present.  I
may be lying in my old bed in my old room in my mother's home, but I'm
no longer that shy, uncertain fifteen year old.  I'm now a grown woman,
with adult concerns and responsibilities.  I have a good job, I enjoy my
work, and I even have a husband -- who at this moment is snuggled up
behind me, his arms wrapped loosely around my waist and his chest
pressed firmly against my back.

I don't even have to wonder whether he's awake or not.  The quiet,
comforting hum is back, the hum I've come so quickly to recognize as
Mulder's thoughts, and I feel his embrace tighten slightly.  I smile,
knowing that he can hear my pleasure and contentment, and for a few
minutes we simply lie together, enjoying a rare moment of peace and
tranquility.  This is what I've missed the most of all these last few
days:  the touching and casual intimacy that Mulder and I have worked so
hard to establish since February.

At last I feel a delicate kiss at the base of my neck.  I tilt my head
and sigh happily as Mulder's tongue lightly touches my skin, sliding
slowly up my neck and sending a thrill of pleasure down my spine.  I
snuggle back a little closer in his arms and close my eyes, and for a
moment I just accept his attentions.

I notice the thrumming inside my head is growing louder, and is overlaid
with something that wasn't there before.  I feel a strange quiver of
excitement and urgency racing through me, clearly sexual, but different
from and more intense than anything I've felt before.  For a moment I'm
bemused by this, but then I realize what it is:  Mulder.  This is how it
is for Mulder.  This is how I make him feel.  And he chuckles softly and
whispers against my neck, "You ain't felt nothing yet."

Now his hands begin to move, his fingertips lightly touching and
caressing my belly, moving in slow, steady circles and sending ripples
of desire through my body and my mind.  I hear myself murmuring his name
just as his lips reach my ear, and he kisses and licks the sensitive
spot below it before nipping lightly at my earlobe -- and I feel a
shiver of delight as I seem to taste my own skin, filtered through his
perceptions.

God, this is good.  This is so, so good.  Mulder's hands are moving
upwards now, his fingers skimming across my ribs and finally cupping my
breasts.  I arch my chest outward against his hands, reveling at the
dizzying sensation of his fingers on my nipples and the simultaneous
feel of my breasts beneath his fingertips.  I push my butt back against
him, until his erection brushes the backs of my thighs.  Instinctively I
part my legs and allow him to slip between them ....

Suddenly I'm breathless as waves of arousal go sweeping through me. 
Part of it is mine and part of it is his, the two distinct and separate
feelings somehow mingling and combining, the total rapidly becoming far
more than the sum of its parts.

The rational part of my mind is distantly aware that feedback is taking
place, my own need and desire feeding into his, which in turn is
reflecting back to me.  I push the thought away, though.  I don't want
to think about this, and I don't want to understand it.  All I want to
do is feel his cock between my legs, my thighs against his shaft.

I can no longer remain passive.  I reach up and grab his hands where
they cup my breasts, pushing them more tightly against me and holding
them in place.  I turn my head, pulling my earlobe from between his
teeth and capturing his lips with mine.  My tongue plunges into his
mouth, aggressively exploring and probing, the flavors and textures of
our mouths mingling together in my mind.  The room is filled with the
groans and murmurs of our passion, my soul with the golden haze of our
desire, but I'm already so far gone I can't tell which sounds and
thoughts belong to whom.

Mulder's hips start moving against me, his erection sliding slowly back
and forth between my thighs.  A growl forms deep within our throats as I
quickly complement his motions, and my explorations of his mouth grow
even more demanding.  Everything about this is right:  the taste of his
mouth, the feel of my skin, the sounds we're making and the scent of our
mutual arousal, all of it driving us onward and upward.  Most of all our
arousal buzzing inside us, separately and together, intensifying and
reinforcing itself in an endless spiral of want and need and desire.

I can wait no longer.  My need for Mulder is a dull ache deep within my
belly, an ache which is matched only by his need to fill me.  We break
the kiss, gasping for breath, and I reach down between my legs and find
his cock, long and hard and warm.

My body shudders as a spike of electricity races up my arm, matched by
the strange new eroticism of experiencing the touch from his
perspective.  Mulder moans, his breath hot and moist against my cheek
and ear.  I arch my hips, thrusting back just as he thrusts forward, and
in an instant he's buried in me to the hilt.

For a moment I simply freeze, my head thrown back against Mulder's
shoulder, my mouth wide open in a silent cry of wonder.  This is ...
this is ... unbelievable.  I'm feeling this connection from both sides,
and it's setting me on fire, sending wave after wave of heat coursing
through my body.  I can barely breathe, it's so intense, and my body is
already trembling, already on the brink.  Mulder's hands are on my hips,
and now he begins to move, and I move with him ....

Oh God.  Oh God.  Oh God.  This is not going to take very long.  Between
the abstinence of the past week and the nearly-overwhelming flood of
sensation from this new connection we share, I'm wound up tighter than I
can ever remember being.  Having him inside me, knowing that it's him,
and simultaneously feeling his joy and pleasure at having me surrounding
him is almost more than I can take.

But not quite.

I feel both our climaxes building as our hips continue to move against
each other.  Each inward thrust seems deeper than the last, and Mulder's
breath is hot and harsh against my neck, my skin warm and slightly
bitter against his lips.  I want this to go on forever, and at the same
time I can't stand for it to last another second.  I want to keep
feeling him deep inside me, I want to keep feeling myself wrapped around
him, I want to keep smelling the wonderful scent of our arousal -- but I
also want our climax, and I want it now.

Please, God, I want it now ....

And then we're there, and we're together, crying out with our voices and
our minds, the orgasm ripping through both of us with unbelievable
intensity.  Mulder's hands slide off my hips and his arms wrap tightly
around my waist as we buck and convulse against each other.  I feel as
if any instant I may fly apart, and the only thing preventing it is
Mulder's warm embrace, his body holding me and surrounding me.  He's
keeping me grounded with his touch, and I'm doing the same for him.

It's so beautiful ....

Finally, slowly, gradually, I feel the storm abating.  My husband's arms
are still wrapped around me, and his chest is warm and firm against my
back.  I can still feel him, in my body and in my mind, the warm, joyful
humming now soft and fuzzy around the edges.  I want to turn and face
him, but this is so good, so comfortable, so pleasantly erotic -- and
besides, I'm too worn out to move.

Mulder knows my feelings, of course, and I know his, and so I turn my
head just as he turns his, and once again our lips meet in a soft,
gentle kiss.  After the intensity of our lovemaking, the quiet sweetness
of this kiss provides comfort and reassurance.  I feel a great calm
settling over me, and at last we break the kiss and I sink back into my
husband's arms, both of us already more than half asleep again.

#          #          #

When next I awaken it's in near-total darkness, the only illumination
coming from the hallway light.  For an instant I'm confused; I know I
closed the bedroom door, but now it's open.  Then I feel a hand on my
shoulder, shaking me roughly, and my brother's voice.

"Dana!  Wake up."

I squint at his form, silhoutted against the light.  I can't make out
his face, but his voice sounds grim and determined.

"What is it?"  Even as I utter the words I'm aware of Mulder waking up
behind me.  He doesn't move, or change his breathing pattern -- but I
know.  I can feel it.  "What time is it?" I add grumpily.  The memories
of my last conversation with Bill are still fresh and sharp, and I feel
the pain all over again as I gradually come to full consciousness.

"You just had a phone call," he says brusquely.  "And it's almost three
a.m."

There's still repressed anger in his voice, but I put that thought
aside.  Bill would not have come in here to wake me unless the call was
important.  And I feel a surge of emotion from Mulder which I interpret
as agreement.

"Who was it, Bill?" I ask, drawing the blankets around myself and
sitting up in bed.  Still Mulder lies still, feigning sleep.  I can
sense he's uneasy about letting me face my brother alone, but I try to
send some reassurance.  It seems he must have gotten the message, as his
anxiety quickly eases off.

"One of your friends," Bill replies coldly.  "Byers.  He wouldn't stay
on the line, but he said to tell you that all work and no play makes
Jack a dull boy."

For a moment I freeze.  My mind kicks into overdrive, and I can feel
Mulder's thoughts accelerating too.  This is one of several code phrases
we've worked out with the Gunmen over the years.  It was originally
Langly's idea, and I admit that in the early years I thought it pretty
silly and cloak-and-daggerish.  But recent events have changed my view
on that, as with so many other things.  And the meaning of this one is
crystal clear:

They're coming.  Run for your lives.

And if Byers refused to stay on the line, that means the Gunmen are in
trouble, too.

Jesus.  After all this time, everything we've been through, they've
finally decided to take us.  Presumably because of Mulder's gift, and
presumably they waited until I returned so they could scoop us up
together.  But whatever the reason, they're coming.  And we have got to
get out of here.

Already Mulder is sitting up in bed; I throw off the covers, heedless of
my nakedness and my brother's presence, and hit the light switch.  Then
I start tossing clothes to Mulder and pulling on my own.

"Dana?  What the hell?"

"We've got to go, Bill," I say as I finish tucking in my blouse and
reach for my shoes.  "Right now."  I try to think of some way to explain
it to him, but nothing reasonable comes to mind.  Sorry, Bill, but a
bunch of men in black are on their way over with their zap 'em up guns,
and we've got to head for the hills.  I shake my head and turn back to
my husband -- to see him still only half-dressed and slumped back
against the wall.

"Mulder," I say softly, sitting down on the bed next to him.  I can feel
the exhaustion radiating from him, and I feel a pang of guilt over our
earlier activities.  But God, we both needed that ...

"Mulder," I repeat, shaking him gently.  "Mulder, we've got to go."

He nods, then opens his eyes.  "Okay," he says, and he forces himself to
a full sitting position as I begin buttoning his shirt.

"Dana!"  If anything, Bill's voice is even sharper than before.  "What
the hell is going on here?"

I finish buttoning Mulder's shirt and help him stand before turning to
face my brother.  "Bill, as I'm sure you've already figured out, that
was a code phrase.  Something we've worked out with a few of our
friends.  And what it means is ... "  Hell, I still can't find the
words.  Finally, I just repeat, "What it means is that Mulder and I have
got to go.  Now."  And I grab my carryon in one hand and take Mulder's
elbow with the other, and we head for the door.

Which Bill is blocking, of course.

"Bill," I say through gritted teeth. "Move.  Now."

"Dana --"

"Bill, so help me God, if you don't get out of that doorway this second
I'll never speak to you again!"  An empty threat, since that's a
probable consequence of what's about to happen anyway.  But Bill doesn't
know that.  Yet.

For a moment Bill hesitates, staring down at me -- and finally I see the
question marks in his eyes, the ones I've been looking for ever since I
arrived.  He really is concerned; he honestly is.  Despite all the the
bluff and arrogance and plain pigheadedness, he does care.

Not that it makes any difference at this point.

Finally my brother moves reluctantly to one side, and Mulder and I pass
through the doorway and into the upstairs hall.  He follows us in
silence as we make our way down the stairs, until finally we're standing
by the front door.  I know I can't just leave; I have to make one more
attempt to make some contact.  I can feel Mulder's thoughts pulsing
understanding and agreement, and he leans against the door while I turn
to talk to Bill.

"Bill ...." I say, but then I let my voice trail off.  I just can't find
the words.  We've grown so far apart, and now I have about thirty
seconds to try to tell him everything that's led me to this point.  It
can't be done.  I also want to go to my mother's room and at least kiss
her goodbye, but I wouldn't be able to explain this to her any better
than I can to Bill.  Finally I shake my head in frustration, hating
myself for my cowardice, and I just say, "Take care of yourself."

It occurs to me as I utter these words that taking care of himself --
not to mention Mom and Tara and the rest of the family -- might be a
tall order, under the circumstances.  My only hope is that by leaving,
Mulder and I will draw the attention away from the rest of them.  A thin
hope, at best.

"You'd better get going," my brother says at last.  His voice is flat
and unemotional, and the flicker of concern I saw a few minutes ago
appears to be gone.  My shoulders slump and I feel Mulder's touch, on my
elbow and in my mind.  Time to go.

I turn away from my brother for the last time, and once again I take my
husband's arm.  The door swings open easily, and we move out onto the
porch and down the steps.

It's dark and quiet outside, and the stars are shining down like tiny
gems set against a velvet backdrop.  It's hard to believe there can be
danger here ... it's so peaceful and beautiful.  But we can't ignore the
Gunmen's warning; we can't afford to take that risk.

At last I get Mulder to his car and into the passenger seat.  He reaches
in his pocket and pulls out and hands me his keys without comment, then
slumps back in his seat and closes his eyes while I fasten his
seatbelt.  I move around to the driver's side and start the engine, then
turn to look at  Mulder.

He is so beautiful.  I don't know how or why any of the rest of this had
to happen, but as long as I've got Mulder I've got everything I really
need.  I feel a lump forming in my throat, and I know he's still awake
and listening, because the humming in my head is louder, and a tiny
smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You ready, Partner?" I say at last.

His smile broadens, but he doesn't open his eys.  And he replies, "Yeah,
Scully.  I'm ready.  Whither thou goest."

I lean across and kiss him briefly on the mouth, then straighten up and
put the car into gear.  We back out of the driveway.  Another moment and
we're moving forward, down the street and away from my mother's home,
into the night.
 
 

Fini