XxXxX

Chapter Fourteen

XxXxX

"Get the camera," said Dr. Atkins, watching her carefully.

Scully blanched.  "Camera?" she whispered.

Dr. Atkins nodded.  "We need to take the first picture before we begin.
You can find it on the counter over there, under the other photos."

Scully turned around slowly and saw for the first time what Mulder must
have seen from his place on the table--neat rows of Polaroid photos,
hanging like a gallery of death on the far wall.  Her lips parted with
silent horror, and she moved inexorably towards the terrible display.

Each of the seven women stared back at her from pairs of snapshots, the
right side capturing their tear-stained cheeks and pleading eyes.
Scully raised her hand as if to touch them, hovering for an instant over
their terrified faces, then swallowed hard and dropped her hand, forcing
her gaze to the row on the left.  Their individuality seemed to
evaporate, all pale skin and bottomless eyes blending to create a single
portrait of death.

"You see?  It's beautiful," whispered Dr. Atkins at her shoulder, and
Scully startled backwards.  Her breathing was quick and shallow.

"I...I see," she answered in a thin voice.  Her gaze darted to Atkins'
right hand, which still held the gun.  She licked her lips as she met
the other woman's gaze again.  "They seem...very peaceful."

Dr. Atkins smiled. "Exactly," she murmured, reaching out to stroking
Scully's injured arm through the sling.  "Now you understand."

Scully moved away from her touch under the pretense of retrieving the
camera.  "I want to take the picture," she said.  There was a moment of
tense silence as Dr. Atkins considered.  At last, she relented.

"Very well.  I supposed you've earned it."

Scully took carefully measured steps back to where Mulder lay on the
table.  He squirmed at her approach.  "Lie still," she whispered,
raising the camera.  His eyes seemed to burn hers through the lens.
Just as she might have snapped the shot, she paused.

"Where is the button?" she asked, turning to face Atkins.  The woman
frowned.

"It's there on the top.  The red one."

"I don't see...oh, you mean here?"  Abruptly, the flash went off,
filling the room with an instant of bright light.

Dr. Atkins cursed and raised an arm to her eyes, and Scully took the
time to yank hard on the knot at Mulder's wrist.  It loosened only a
fraction.  "Yes, there," hissed Dr. Atkins, blinking at her like an
angry mole.  "Just take the damn picture already."

Scully turned and snapped one of Mulder.  As she set the camera aside,
she noticed him twisting his wrist subtly back and forth.  "What now?"
she asked, hoping to distract Dr. Atkins just a little longer.

"Now the knife," Dr. Atkins replied softly, and Mulder began twisting a
little faster.  Scully's breath caught as the woman laid the gun on the
Formica countertop on the other side of Mulder.  Dr. Atkins smiled and
picked up a shiny scalpel from where it lay amidst a tray full of
surgical instruments.  "Shall we start with a Y incision?"

Scully coughed, nearly gagging.  "The marks on the bodies," she said
hoarsely.  "They were like autopsies."

Dr. Atkins ran her thumb lightly over the blade and nodded.  "My father
taught me you should always start with what you know."  She crossed the
few steps to Mulder, so that she stood on his right side and Scully
stood to his left.  She undid the buttons on his shirt with swift,
efficient movements, then sighed as the material parted to reveal the
broad expanse of his chest.  Her eyes glowed as she looked up at Scully.
"I'll go first," she whispered.  "So you can see how it's done."

Scully tensed as the gleaming blade moved closer and closer to Mulder's
chest.  He flinched at the first contact, moaned as a line of blood
began to appear.  Scully looked at the gun, six feet away.

Dosomethingdosomething!

She had cut him nearly two inches now.

"Who was Helen?"  Scully blurted the words before she knew what she was
saying.  Dr. Atkins froze.

"What?"

"I asked who Helen was," Scully repeated, breathing hard.  Blood was
running down Mulder's chest in tiny red rivulets.

"She was my sister," said Dr. Atkins, straightening up with the scalpel
in her hand.  "My twin sister, actually.  She died a long time ago."

Scully thought frantically for any words that might keep the
conversation going.  Mulder's wrist was nearly free.  "You must miss
her."

Dr. Atkins dropped her gaze to the floor.  "Every time I look in the
mirror," she whispered.

"I know that feeling," Scully said a moment later, taking a cautious
step forward.  "I lost my only sister a few years ago.  Sometimes I
can't even believe she's really gone."

Dr. Atkins' stared at her with new interest.  "How did she die?"

"She was killed--shot in my apartment."  Scully paused.  "She was shot
by someone meaning to kill me."

Dr. Atkins eyes widened.  "She died in your place?"

Scully gave a short nod.  "Yes."

The woman nodded also, her expression grim.  "Then he will die in hers."
Dr. Atkins returned her attention to Mulder, who was nearly covered in
streaks of blood.  "He will die for your sister and mine, and for
Elizabeth and for you and for all the others, too."  Her hand shook as
she lowered the scalpel to Mulder's chest once more.

"Wait!" Scully cried, and Atkins stopped abruptly.  Scully swallowed
twice in rapid succession.  "I want...I want to do it."

Dr. Atkins hesitated only a moment before handing the knife across to
her.  "Of course.  It's your right."  Then she watched intently as
Scully slowly removed her sling and rolled up her sleeves.  Her
breathing quickened audibly at the sight of the stitches on Scully's
arm, and Scully noticed her excitement.

"You want to hear about it?" she breathed, and the woman nodded slowly,
taking a step closer.  Scully also moved one step towards the foot of
the table.  "It was a switch blade," she murmured.  "Long and sharp.  He
held it to my neck first.  See?"  She brushed her hair out of the way so
Dr. Atkins could see the nicks on her throat.

"Did it hurt much?" asked the woman softly, moving yet closer.

"Yes," Scully whispered.  "But I liked it."

Dr. Atkins squeaked.  "You...you did?"

"Mm-hmm.  There was so much blood I felt like I could taste it."  She
risked a quick glance at Mulder, who was listening with his eyes riveted
on her face.  He had gone completely still.

"I've tasted it before," Dr. Atkins confessed in a small, excited voice.
"It makes your gums swell up and your throat sting."

Scully nodded, barely hearing her.  They were only steps apart now, but
Dr. Atkins still stood between her and the gun.  What was worse, she
showed no signs of moving any closer.  Scully felt tears of frustration
prick her eyes.

Thinkthinkthink!  Whatdoesshewant?

At last it came to her.  Clenching her fingers around the steel blade,
Scully brought it slowly toward the inside of her uninjured arm.  Dr.
Atkins held her breath, and Mulder cried out from beneath his tape.
Scully dared not look at him.

Eyes fixed on Dr. Atkins, she let the tip of the scalpel sink into her
skin.  "Yesssss..." said the woman, drawing a step closer.  Mulder began
thrashing on the table.

"You like that?" whispered Scully.  She lengthened the cut another few
millimeters, and Dr. Atkins moved near enough that she could feel her
breathing.

"More."

Scully waited the length of one heartbeat...
and another...
and another...

Then she struck.

"Don't move!" she commanded, setting the blade against Dr. Atkins' neck.
"Don't even blink."  She glanced over at Mulder.  "Mulder, are you
okay?"

Her answer was more squirming and muffled words.

"This is not how it ends," whispered Dr. Atkins. "This is not our
destiny, Dana."

"You're right about that," Scully agreed darkly, her arm shaking with
pain and fatigue.  "Now let's get over there and untie him.  Slowly."

They inched towards Mulder, Scully never dropping the scalpel from Dr.
Atkins' neck.  But as they reached first of the restraints, Dr. Atkins
shifted suddenly, grabbing Scully's injured forearm with vice-like
force.  Scully cried out in pain as the scalpel fell to the floor.  She
scrambled to retrieve it, but Dr. Atkins was faster.

She lashed out and caught Scully across the shoulder.  "How dare you?"
she yelled, outraged.  "How dare you insult me that way?"

Scully backed away as Dr. Atkins kept swinging.  "Haley, please, I--"

Then a shot whizzed past them, exploding noise into the room.  Both
women froze.  Scully recovered first and moved quickly to one side.
Mulder was arched off the autopsy table, the gun clenched in his freed
left hand as blood trickled down his chest.  He had the back of Haley
Atkins' head clearly in his sights.

"Drop the knife, Haley," Scully ordered.  "It's over now."

The woman looked across at her, tears streaming down her face.  "I
can't," she whispered.  "You know I can't stop."

Then with lightning quick motion, she ran the blade down the side of her
neck.  "Haley!"  Scully screamed as the woman slumped to the ground.
She knelt quickly at her side, but wound was too deep and too large to
stop the bleeding.  Dr. Atkins had already lost consciousness.

*This is the way it's supposed to end*

Scully froze.  Her words or Haley's?

"Scully.  Scully are you okay?"  Mulder's breathless voice floated
across the room, shaking her from her thoughts.  She rose unsteadily to
her feet and walked to his side.

"I'm okay," she said, accepting his one-armed, bloody embrace.  His left
hand still clutched the gun, which scraped over her spine.  "You?"

"Okay."  He squeezed her hard and then dropped his arm.  "Let's get the
hell out of here."

Scully nodded her agreement and helped him get free, her rust-tinged
fingers working quickly at the knots.  He leaned on her heavily as they
limped through the blood, and her nose tingled at its heavy, metallic
scent.  Mulder lurched to a halt in front of the body, as if paralyzed
by under force of Dr. Atkins' dead stare.  Scully urged him forward.

"Come on, let's go."  So much of their blood already stained the room,
seeping into tile cracks and mingling with the traces left by women who
had not escaped.  She refused to let Haley Atkins claim even one drop
more.

Together, they mounted the dark staircase and pushed their way into the
frigid night.  Mulder shivered violently, and Scully worried it was more
from shock than cold.  "Hang on, Mulder," she murmured.  "I've got the
car keys."

The snow was falling furiously now, invisible in the dark but icy cold
as it clung to their skin.  "Where is it?" Mulder asked, stumbling at
her side.  She struggled to hold him upright.

"There, I think."  Just as she spoke, the sound of an approaching car
engine echoed from the trees.  A few seconds later blue and red police
lights began to dance across the snow.  Scully squinted as two Ford
Explorer cruisers appeared in the clearing, highbeams lighting the woods
like the sun.

"God bless four-wheel drive," Mulder muttered, already sagging again by
her side.  Two uniformed officers got out of the car with their guns
drawn.

"Hold it right there!" one called sharply.

"We're FBI!" Scully answered.  "And we need an ambulance."

The officer lowered his gun and jogged toward them.  "Ambulance is
coming right behind us--it had some trouble in the snow.  Where is Haley
Atkins?"

"Dead," Scully said succinctly.  "She's in the basement."

"We're on it.  You can wait in the car." He turned and waved to the
other officers.  "This way!"

Three of them laid siege to the cabin as the fourth, a young man with
kind blue eyes, helped Mulder and Scully into the back of one of the
cruisers.  They accepted the blankets gratefully.  "Hell of a job," he
told them solemnly.  "You can bet people will remember this for a long
time to come."

He slammed the door and then disappeared into the falling snow.  Mulder
shuddered, and Scully moved closer to him on the seat.  "You okay?" she
asked.  Eyes closed, he nodded and groped for her hand.  He squeezed her
fingers painfully.

"He's wrong, Scully."

"About what?"

"About the remembering.  Haley Atkins wasn't a monster from under the
bed--she was the girl next door.  It won't be very long before people
have forgotten that."

Scully was silent for a long time, then rested her head against his
shoulder in the darkness.  "Not me," she whispered.

XxXxX

End Chapter Fourteen

XxXxX

Chapter Fifteen

XxXxX


"Please, this really isn't necessary."  Scully fidgeted as a third year
medical student named Ben attempted to stitch up her latest cuts.  He
met her eyes and smiled.

"It will just take a few minutes.  And you know it will help with the
healing."

"Really, I'm fine.  My partner--"

"He's going to be okay, I promise you.  Dr. Amalia is in with him now,
and she's the best we have."

Scully nodded distractedly, trying to glance past him and the striped
curtain.  "I want to talk to her."

"Of course.  I'm sure she'll let you know what's going on as soon as she
can."

Scully dropped her gaze to where Ben was gently stitching the inch-long
cut she had made on her left arm.  He caught her looking.

"Used a scalpel, huh?" he murmured.

Scully froze under his touch.  "What?"

"The woman you caught tonight.  She used a scalpel to kill those women
in Cambridge."

"Yes, it was a scalpel," Scully answered, releasing a long breath.  She
wished he would hurry up and finish.  She wanted to see Mulder.  She
wanted to find out what had happened to Detective Bertelli.  She wanted
to do *anything* besides sit in this too quiet corner and remember how
easy it had been to turn the knife on herself.

"Is she really dead?"

Startled, both Scully and Ben looked up to see Detective Bertelli
peering around the curtain.  "Claudia," Scully breathed with relief.
"What happened?  Are you okay?"

The other woman nodded as she squeezed into the tiny space, snowflakes
still melting on her dark green overcoat.  She reached up and touched
the back of her head gently.  "It's just a minor concussion.  Atkins
whacked me with something as I was heading upstairs to call in about
Howard." She hesitated, her eyes raking Scully for any signs of
permanent damage.  "So is it true?  She's really dead?"

"Yes.  When Mulder got control of the gun, she slit her throat rather
than surrender."

"Son of a bitch," Bertelli said in an angry whisper.  "I still can't
make myself believe it.  I can't believe it was her."

Ben finished bandaging Scully's arm, and she drew it protectively off
the table into her lap.  "You're all set," he said, rising from his
chair.  "Can I get you anything?"

"Dr. Amalia," Scully answered immediately.

He smiled.  "I'll get right on it.  Anything else?"

She rubbed her eyes as fatigue set in.  Though the clock on the wall
read a few minutes past eight, she felt like it was the middle of the
night.  "A cup of coffee?" she asked finally.

"Make it two," said Bertelli.  She moved into the seat Ben had vacated.

"Two coffees, coming up."  He drew the curtain closed behind him as he
left.

"How about you?" Bertelli asked when he had gone.  "How are you doing?"

Scully took a deep breath, rubbing her knees as she considered.  "I'll
be okay," she replied.  "Eventually."

"And Mulder, is he..."

"He's fine," Scully broke in quickly, but her gaze darted to the curtain
again.  It wouldn't really be true until she saw him with her own eyes.

Bertelli leaned back in her chair.  "If half of what I'm hearing is
true, you did a hell of a job, Dana."

Scully shook her head faintly, fingering the hem on her sweater.
"Tonight never should have happened.  It never should have gone this
far.  If I had identified the characteristic patterns of autopsy on the
victims' bodies from the start..."

"Don't."  Bertelli's voice was hard, with an edge of pain.  "Don't even
start, Dana, because I will win that game every time.  Do you know how
many conversations I had with Haley Atkins about this case?  Hundreds.
And I never suspected her for a minute, not even for one *second* did I
think she was capable of this."  She turned in her chair so that they
were face to face.  "I saw the photos, too, and if there was a pattern
there, she hid it well.  How many wounds did the last victim have?
Seventy two?"

"Seventy-seven," whispered Scully, averting her eyes.

"See?  There was no way you could have known.  Not really."
Bertelli turned back around and was quiet for a long time.  "I keep
seeing Howard lying on the floor," she confessed finally.  "He was a
huge guy, and she was able slit his throat straight across with a single
cut.  I keep thinking...why not me?  I mean, she knocked me out cold.
Why didn't I wake up dead?"

Scully glanced at her sideways.  "I don't know.  Maybe she didn't have
time.  Maybe she didn't have the knife with her.  Maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"I think she liked you, Claudia."  Scully took a deep breath before
continuing.  "I think she liked you and she saw how much this case has
taken out of you.  Maybe she didn't want to take any more."

Bertelli face grew sad, almost wistful.  "You know the funny part?  I
liked her, too."

"So did I."

When Ben arrived with the coffee, he gave Scully a sample package of
painkillers as well.  "Figured you could use a Tylenol chaser," he said
with a slow smile.  She accepted them gratefully.  "Dr. Amalia will be
out to talk to you in a couple of minutes, but don't worry...Agent
Mulder is doing fine.  He's not even going to need surgery."

"Thank you."

"No."  The young man's gaze flickered from Bertelli to Scully.  "Thank
you," he said softly.  He smiled again and left the room.

"At least it's finally over," Bertelli said, sipping her coffee.

"Right," Scully agreed.  "Over."

And then they stared at the walls together in silence, pretending it was
true.

XxXxX

Scully had punched thumb nail sized holes around the rim of her
Styrofoam cup when Dr. Amalia finally arrived.  Bertelli had long since
left, dragged away by an insistent Jacobsen before she had finished her
coffee.

"Dr. Scully," said Dr. Amalia warmly, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting,
but I bring good news.  Agent Mulder is doing fine now -- we've moved
him upstairs to a private room."  Her kind brown eyes radiated concern.
"What about you?  How are you feeling?"

"Fine."  Scully noticed that the woman's ID badge was on upside down.
"Busy night around here, it seems."

"Yes, very.  Thanks to the snow, we've had three motor vehicle accidents
in the past hour alone."

"I remember those days," Scully answered with a small smile.  She
hesitated.  "Mulder is really okay now?  He was shivering, and there was
so much blood..."

"He did require a transfusion, but his blood pressure has been
stabilized for over an hour.  Fortunately, the bullet passed through his
leg without hitting the bone."  She smiled.  "He'll be hobbling around
for a few weeks, but there should be no permanent damage."

Scully tightened her hand around the cup, crushing the walls in on
themselves.  "Thank God," she whispered.

Dr. Amalia nodded.  "Would you like to see him?"

"Yes, please."

"He's in room 211 in the Kelley wing.  I can have someone show you where
it is if you want."

"No, I can find it, thanks."

She opened the door to room 211 quietly and found Mulder lying on the
bed with his eyes closed.  He was as pale as the pillow, but his
breathing was slow and even.  His lower left leg, bandaged and propped
several inches off the bed, stuck out from under the blanket.  Scully
blinked back tears of relief as she gently tucked the covers more
securely around him.  He opened his eyes.

"Hey," he said hoarsely, a tired smile tugging at his mouth.  He reached
for her hand, and she gave it willingly as she took the seat next to
him.

"You're still cold," she chided, bringing her other hand up to rub his
chilled fingers between her palms.  He let her warm him for a few
moments, then lifted his hand to cup the side of her face.

"You okay?"

"I'm all right."  She turned her head to kiss the fleshy spot at the
base of his thumb and then took his hand again.  "Bertelli stopped by
earlier.  Jacobsen, too."

Mulder smiled.  "And he didn't bring me any flowers?  I think the
romance has gone, Scully."

Despite her lingering anxiety, Scully smiled, too.  If he was cracking
jokes, he *must* be feeling better.  "The gift shop is closed," she told
him.  "But they both send you well wishes."

"Bertelli's okay?"

"Yes, Atkins just knocked her out.  Lucky for us, too, because she's the
reason help showed up so quickly tonight."

Mulder nodded and turned their joined hands over so he could see the
inside of her arm.  Her sweater was bunched at the elbow, displaying a
taped, white bandage.  He reached up and touched the edge with his index
finger.  "You're sure you're all right, Scully?"

She pulled her arm away, tugging her sleeve back down as she did so.
"It's just a small cut, Mulder.  Only four stitches."

His eyes met hers.  "That's not what I asked."

"Well, I'm not sure what answer you want.  Tonight wasn't exactly a
pleasant experience, but we survived and Haley Atkins won't be killing
anyone else.  Given our situation a few hours ago, I'd say this is the
best possible outcome, wouldn't you?"

"I'm not criticizing you, Scully, far from it.  You were a revelation
tonight."  His eyes were solemn but his tone was tender. "There's no
doubt in my mind that we would not be having this conversation if you
hadn't done what you did."

"Or you," she protested, remembering who had stopped Atkins at last.

He studied her face for a long moment.  "This goes deeper than just
tonight, Scully.  Somehow Haley Atkins thought that you shared her
sickness, but that was her mistake.  Don't make it yours, too."

Scully swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat.  "I won't."

"Good," he murmured, his eyes sliding closed.  She sat and watched as
his breathing evened out again.  After a few minutes, her eyelids grew
heavy, and she yawned.  Someone had thoughtfully placed a blanket and
pillow on the nearby cot, and she rose quietly, hoping to join him in a
nap.  Then there was a knock on the door.

She glanced at Mulder, but he did not stir.  Setting aside the blanket,
she went and cracked the door open several inches.  On the other side
was a petite woman with pale skin and black corkscrew curls.  She seemed
cold, as if she had just come in from the outside.  "May I help you?"
Scully asked cautiously.  The press had been sniffing around the
hospital almost since their arrival.

"Um, I hope so," the woman said, shifting nervously from one foot to the
other.  "I was...I was looking for Fox Mulder."

Scully did not move from where she was blocking the door.  "And you
would be?"

"Oh, sorry.  I'm Deborah Pullman."  She hesitated.  "Elizabeth Callahan
was a friend of mine."

Scully paused, turning her head to see if Mulder was awake, but he slept
on.  She moved out into the hallway and closed the door gently behind
her.  "He's sleeping right now," she explained.  "I can give him a
message if you like.  I'm his partner, Dana Scully."

"I know," Deborah answered softly.  "I heard about you on the news.
That's how I knew to come here."  She dropped her gaze to the floor.
"That's how I found out about Liz, too.  I tried calling her when I got
back from Toronto, but she didn't answer.  I figured she was just out
shopping, you know?  But then I turned on the TV."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks," said Deborah, shoving her hands in her pockets.  "She was a
good person.  A good friend.  I'm really going to miss her."

"How did you know her?" Scully asked, curious.  Their search of
Elizabeth's background had turned up no close contacts.

Deborah gave a wry smile.  "I bumped into her at the laundry mat a year
ago and we got to talking.  You might say we had a lot in common."

"Painting?" Scully guessed, noting the splatters on the woman's jeans.

"Yes," Deborah replied.  "And this."  She stuck out her wrists, and
Scully's breath caught at the sight of the deep scars.  Then as if
embarrassed by her display, Deborah tucked her hands back inside her
coat.  "Anyway, I can't stay now.  My boyfriend is waiting in the car.
I just wanted to stop by and give him this."  She withdrew an envelope
and handed it to Scully.  It was addressed to Mulder.

"What is it?"

"I found it on Liz's desk when I went to clear out some of her things
today.  She talked about writing him a lot, but I guess she never found
the guts to mail it."  She paused, licking her lips.  "Somehow I don't
think she would mind now."

"Thank you," Scully murmured, staring at the neat script on the front.
"I'm sure he will appreciate your gesture."

Deborah shrugged.  "Liz would have done it for me.  Listen, I've got to
go, but I'm having a small service for Liz on Tuesday morning.  If he
wants to come, you can tell him it's at eleven o'clock at St. Anthony's
in Cambridge, okay?"

Scully smiled.  "Okay.  I'll tell him."  She watched the woman walk out
of sight before returning to Mulder's room, the slim weight of the
envelope in her hand.  He was awake again, blinking at her sleepily.

"Who were you talking to outside?"

"A woman named Deborah Pullman.  She was a friend of Elizabeth's who was
out of town until recently."

Mulder shifted on the bed, pulling himself up a few inches.  "What did
she want?"

"She wanted to tell you about a memorial service she's having for
Elizabeth on Tuesday...and to give you this."  Scully extended the
envelope towards him.  He stared at it without picking it up.

"What is it?"

"She found it in Elizabeth's apartment.  It's addressed to you, Mulder."

He looked at it for several seconds longer, then raised his eyes to
hers.  "Open it, will you, Scully?"

She frowned.  "Mulder, I don't think..."

"Please?"

She waited another moment before relenting.  Taking the seat beside him
once more, she slit the end of the envelope and removed the single sheet
inside.

"Read it," he ordered softly, and she felt her heart rate pick up.

"Mulder, are you sure about this?  Elizabeth meant this letter for you,
not me."

"It's okay," he said.  "Just tell me what she says."  Then he folded his
hands across his stomach and stared at the ceiling as she unfolded the
paper.

"Dear Fox," she read,

"I was thinking of you the other day and decided to write you a letter.
Who knows, maybe I will even mail this one.  I've written you half a
dozen times since my father died two years ago, but I can never seem to
get them all the way to the mailbox.  I guess I'm a little afraid of
what you might think of hearing from me after all this time.

"I was thinking of how we first met.  I know you always said it was at
the Morrison's Halloween party, but it wasn't.  It was first day of
second grade, when I was the new kid in Samantha's class.  I spent the
whole morning making mistakes -- forgetting people's names, taking a
wrong turn on the way to the bathroom, using the good white paper to
practice my spelling words -- so that recess seemed like a blessing.
Then everyone decided to play 'Sardines,' and I had no idea where to
hide.  I looked behind every damn tree on the playground, but each one
had someone behind it shaking their head and motioning for me to get
out.  The only one left was too skinny to hide even a lamppost, but I
was desperate.  Imagine my surprise when your hand shot out of the
branches above my head.  You pulled me up without a word -- never even
told me your name.  But we won the game, and I have never forgotten it.

"I wonder sometimes if you ever remember those early days or if you just
remember how it ended.  Sometimes I wish we had never married.  Because
then I could call you up right now and say, 'Fox, you remember the time
Billy Haggerty dared you to go skinny dipping in Anne Morrison's new
pool?  I thought I'd die laughing when her father turned the floodlights
on and hauled your skinny naked butt back down the block to your
parent's place.'  Then maybe I could even get you to do your Nixon
impression again, or we could debate the best flavor of Popsicle from
Mr. Houlihan's Store.  It would be so nice to share these memories with
someone again.

"But then I remind myself that if we had not married, I would not be
here writing this to you now, and I am grateful you reentered my life
when you did.

"I hope that you are happy now because I'm getting closer every day, and
I think we've both earned a little happiness.  I'm even painting again
after four years in creative hibernation.  It was terrifying to pick up
the brush at first -- I was afraid I might have forgotten how to use
one, it had been so long since I tried.  But once I started working, I
didn't stop for sixteen hours.  It was glorious.  I've been thinking
that I might take a workshop or two this summer -- maybe try to get a
local show together.

"If I do scrape together a show, I will be sure to send you an
invitation.  I hope you will come.  I hope you will see my hand sticking
out the branches and come tell me everything you have been doing these
past seven years.

"I'll be up here waiting.

"Love, Liz."

Scully ignored the stinging in her eyes as she refolded the letter.
"I'm so sorry, Mulder."

He nodded, still staring at the ceiling.  "What's the date on the
letter?"

She dropped her chin to her chest and stroked the edge of the letter
with one finger.  "December fifteenth," she said reluctantly.

"That was over two months ago.  I guess she wasn't going to send this
one, either."

"Maybe she would have sent it eventually," Scully countered.  "You never
know."

"Yeah," he echoed hoarsely.  "You never know."  After another few
moments, he turned his head to look at her.  "Is it still snowing?"

"It might be.  It was coming down pretty hard a while ago."

"Go check, would you?"  His eyes were luminous in the soft light.
Wordlessly, she rose and drew back the curtain to reveal cascading
snowflakes, swirling about under the yellow light of the street lamp.
She moved to the side so he could see.

"She loved the snow," he said at last.  His eyes flickered as he tracked
the falling flakes.  "As kids, we would all get together and go sledding
for hours, 'til our butts nearly froze off.  Liz always complained that
we didn't get more snow in DC."

"It's beautiful," Scully whispered, turning to face the window.  "Almost
like it's erasing the world."

"Leave it open, okay?"

She nodded and walked back over to the bed.  "You should really get some
rest, Mulder."

"You, too," he answered, shifting to one side of the bed.  She
understood his intentions immediately.

"Mulder, I can't.  Your leg..."

"Needs you as much as the rest of me.  Get in."  He lifted the covers
for her.

Scully hesitated only one second longer before slipping off her shoes
and grabbing the extra blanket from the cot.  "Tell me if I hurt you,"
she said quietly as she settled next to him.

"S'fine."

It took a little maneuvering to get comfortable because she was
technically on the wrong side of the bed; he usually slept on her right.
She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat, but the events of the
day still clutched and clawed at her.  She started to shake
uncontrollably.

"Scully?"

"It's okay, Mulder," she answered through her quivering.  "It's just the
adrenaline wearing off."

He stroked her hair awkwardly, his touch heavy and warm on her scalp,
and she burrowed closer.  His voice rumbled beneath her ear.  "Shhh,
Scully...it's all right."

She nodded, still shaking against him.  "I know."  She squeezed back the
hot tears and forced herself to look out the window, where the flakes
were fluttering past in perfect silence.  The wind tickled them as they
twirled and pasted a rim of crystals around the window's edge.  Scully
imagined she could pick just one flake and follow its journey down from
the sky.  Eventually, the peaceful quiet and Mulder's gentle stroking
helped ease her shuddering, and she slept dreamlessly inside the icy
cocoon.

XxXxX

End Chapter Fifteen

XxXxX

Chapter Sixteen

XxXxX


Scully was up to her elbows in lemon-scented bubbles when Mulder limped
into the kitchen.  "You're supposed to be resting," she said with a
frown.

He made a face.  "Scully, I have barely moved all week.  Just this
morning I had to turn away a family of spiders looking to set up shop in
the curve of my shoulder."

She sighed.  "So help me, Mulder, if you have attracted *any* insects
into my bed..."  She trailed off as she resumed scrubbing the lasagna
pan.  It was more difficult than usual because she still did not have
complete use of her right arm.

He hobbled a little closer.  "Don't worry, Scully.  It's not insects I'm
hoping to attract into your bed."

"Nice to see your afternoon painkillers are kicking in," she answered
dryly.  "But you still shouldn't be walking on that leg.  Not without
crutches."

"I'll go back if you'll come with me."  He leaned against the counter
next to her, looking hopeful.  She smiled.

"Mulder, I was in there with you all morning."

"Doing the Sunday crossword puzzle while I was sleeping doesn't count."

She rinsed off the pan and set it in the rack to dry.  "You weren't
sleeping when I started.  I can't help it if you find my idea of
entertainment boring."

"Never boring, Scully."  He leaned in and nuzzled her temple.  "And I
promise you will have my full attention if you come keep me company
now."

Her skin tingled under his touch, and she hid a smile.  "Okay, Mulder,"
she sighed after another moment.  "You win.  Anything to keep you from
bouncing the basketball on the ceiling again."

He had the grace to look sheepish.  "I didn't realize it would leave
marks."  She took his hand and led him silently back towards the
bedroom, not admitting that the marks had long since ceased to bother
her.   They were not that visible anyway, and she liked the small
reminder that her bed was no longer hers alone.

Once under the covers, he held her close, slipping one hand beneath her
sweatshirt to trace warm circles on her belly.  "You smell like Joy," he
murmured against the top of her head, and the words warmed her even
though she knew what he really meant.

"Most people don't consider dishwashing liquid an aphrodisiac," she
teased before kissing the underside of his chin.  He squeezed her
affectionately.

"Their loss, I'm sure."

She shifted so that less of her weight was pressing on her right arm and
allowed her fingers to slip beneath the edge of his tee shirt.  His skin
was soft and sleek, and she reveled in the firm feel of his sleeping
muscles.  He murmured his approval against her hair.

"Mulder?" she asked after several minutes of quiet touching.

"Hmmm?"

"Tell me about your wedding."

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.  "You want to know
about my wedding?"

She nodded.  "If that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," he replied, running the back of his finger down
her cheek.  "I told you that you can ask me anything you want."

"I guess I just want to know what it was like."

"It was very windy," he said.  "That much I remember.  October on the
Vineyard is always that way."

"You had it outside?"

"No, just the reception.  The service was in the chapel of Liz's church.
It was pretty low key since neither of us was really into planning.  Liz
used to joke that she wanted to get married at Lenny's Pub wearing her
jeans and sandals."

Scully smiled against his shoulder.  "Sounds like you made a good
match."

"Yeah, I was all for the idea.  Liz looked great in jeans.  But in the
end she opted for tradition and went with the dress.  It was long and
straight, not really fancy.  I probably have a picture somewhere if you
want to see it sometime."

"I would," she said, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Anyway, I remain convinced that her father wanted the reception outside
just so he wouldn't have to let me in the house.  But at least the wind
kept him busy.  He spent half the afternoon climbing trees in his tux,
trying to rescue the napkins and paper plates.  Liz thought it was the
funniest thing she had ever seen."

"I'm impressed she kept her sense of humor.  Many brides would have had
a fit."

Mulder smiled.  "I think the four glasses of champagne probably helped,"
he said.

"Mmm, yes.  I imagine it would."

She closed her eyes, and he shifted position slightly, running his hand
down the length of her back.  "So are we okay now?" he asked eventually.
"With Elizabeth and everything?"  His question was casual, but she felt
him tense beneath her cheek.

"Yeah," she said softly.  "We're okay.  I'm adjusting."

"Adjusting?"

"To the idea that you were married once."

"Well, I wish you luck.  I'm still adjusting myself."  He continued the
soothing motions on her back, and she was quiet for a few minutes,
enjoying the steady rhythm of his heartbeat next to her ear.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you ever want to get married again?"

His hands froze, fingers digging into her spine.  "Um, okay."

She shook her head and pulled away.  "Okay is not really an answer to
the question, Mulder."

"I don't know what kind of answer you want," he replied cautiously.

"An honest one."

He withdrew his hands and stared up at the ceiling.  "Well, honestly...I
kind of like things the way they are now."  He glanced at her quickly,
as if afraid of her reaction.  She propped herself up on her elbow and
looked down at him.

"So do I.  I don't have some hidden agenda here, Mulder.  I was just
wondering how you felt about the idea of marriage since we've never
really discussed it before.  I mean, up until a few days ago I had no
idea you had personal knowledge on the subject."

He fidgeted beneath the covers and met her eyes briefly.  "You want to
know how I'd feel about us getting married?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, bracing herself.  "Well, I
meant the question more generally, but if you want to put it in the
context of our relationship, that's okay."

His squirming stopped immediately.  "Scully, that's the only way I can
imagine it," he said.

She fell into a stunned silence for a moment, then looked down at him
searchingly.  He looked right back.  "Really?" she asked at last.

"Really," he said, and they half-smiled at one another.

Then she leaned down and kissed him lightly, her lips barely catching on
his.  When she would have pulled away, he stopped her by curving his
hand around the back of her head, his fingers threading through her
hair.  He massaged her scalp slowly and gently, coaxing her into a
deeper kiss.  As she parted her lips, the tip of his tongue grazed hers,
and arousal pricked sharply inside her.  She pressed closer, melting
onto him as her world shrank to the feel of his leg pressing between her
thighs and his tongue moving in her mouth.

He broke off the kiss and nuzzled her cheek, his breath tickling her
sensitized skin.  "Tell me what you imagined," he whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered open.  "Wha...what?"

"About getting married," he said as he slipped his hands beneath her
sweatshirt once more.  She sat up slightly, easing the stress on her arm
and allowing him to find her breasts.

"I, um...it's changed a lot since I was young.  I don't care much about
the ceremony anymore."  She licked her lips as he began rubbing circles
over her nipples.

"Scully," he said teasingly, "don't tell me you were one of those girls
who used to play 'wedding' all the time."

She smiled as she tugged his shirt up over his stomach.  "God, no.  But
when we lived in Annapolis our house was just down the street from the
chapel, and Melissa and I used to watch the wedding parties on the
weekends.  We had some pretty grand ideas about how our own weddings
would be."

"Ten bridesmaids and a rented cathedral?"

"Complete with a horse-drawn carriage and the long, white dress with the
bow on the butt."  He made a face and she tickled his ribs.  "I was six
years old, Mulder.  I can't be held liable for any wardrobe choices I
made back then."  She drew her fingertips slowly down his chest.

"And now?" he asked.

"Now I don't care about the details.  The clothes aren't important, the
location doesn't matter, and I don't think there is anything
particularly romantic about getting married on Valentine's Day.  I think
it's more about promising that you'll be there for the day *after* the
wedding and all the days after that."

He was quiet for a long time, his hands unmoving on her back.  "Well,
when you put it that way, Scully, I think maybe all we have left is the
details."

"Maybe," she whispered.  "But it's still a big step, Mulder, and we
don't have to work it out right this minute."

"Good to know," he replied, rubbing against her subtly with his hips
until his erection pressed into the seam of her sweatpants.  Her neck
flushed hot and her nipples tightened against his palms.  She leaned
down to kiss him again, and this time it was deep and open from the
start as they shared mingled sounds of pleasure.

Their gentle rubbing escalated to the point where the bed shook
rhythmically with each thrust.  "Your leg," she said breathlessly when
he broke off to plant light, sucking kisses up the length of her neck.

"It's fine," he muttered, taking her mouth again and tugging at the
waistband on her sweatpants.  She tried to help but didn't want to stop
the sweet friction between her legs long enough to cooperate.
"Scully..."

"Okay, okay."  Trembling, she eased off him enough to pull down her
pants and underwear.  His erection poked out through the opening in his
boxers, his hips twitching as he waited.  She shivered as she discarded
the remnants of her clothing and then helped him off with his boxers.

Climbing over him once more, she dropped her head to his shoulder as she
took the hard length of his cock in her hand.  "You feel so good," she
murmured, and he quivered.  Then she began a slow up and down movement
that caused him to groan into her ear.

His fingers brushed the insides of her thighs several times before
sliding between the curls to touch her.  "Scully," he breathed, his
voice full of praise and awe.  He rubbed the swollen folds gently and
then teased her clit with two slicked fingers.  Her hips jerked into his
hand.  "Scully, are you close?"

Eyes squeezed shut, she panted into his shoulder.  "Yes."  Her hips were
pushing more insistently against his caressing fingers, searching for a
rhythm.  He shifted so that she could position the head of his penis
between her legs.  "Oh," she cried softly when he began to push inside.

She raised up enough to kiss him, her tongue entering his mouth as his
cock entered her body.  His hands gripped her hips tightly.  "Okay?" he
asked hoarsely when he was all the way in.

"Oh, yes."  She licked the salty place at the base of his neck and began
to move on him slowly.  The bed bounced gently beneath her knees as she
slid him in and out of her body, and she hummed her pleasure into his
shoulder.  His tee shirt smelled like sweat and laundry detergent.

She tried to keep it slow, to draw out the feel of his cock rubbing
inside her, but soon they were thrusting in furious unison.  He arched
his head back on the pillow.  "Scully, please..."

She widened her legs, bearing down on him even more, and drew his hand
back between their bodies.  He stroked her with firm, quick movements.
"Yes," she encouraged through clenched teeth.  He kept up his caresses
as she cried out and tensed in orgasm, the waves buffeting through her
one after the other.   Then clutching her close, he groaned his own
climax in her ear.

For several minutes, she lay draped across him bonelessly as the
pleasure tingled through her.  He smoothed the back of her hair and
kissed her temple.  "You all right?" he asked in a roughened voice.

"I'm fine."  In fact, her right arm was a little sore, but it seemed a
small price to pay.  "This beats the hell out of a couple of Tylenol."

"Not to mention the Sunday crossword puzzle," he pointed out, and she
laughed.  Then they lapsed into such a long silence that Scully assumed
he had fallen asleep.  But his voice came floating from above her head.
"You know, Scully, Valentine's Day is definitely not the most romantic
day to get married."

"Oh?"  She rested her chin on the back of her hand and looked up at him.
"Pray enlighten me, Mulder.  What then is the most romantic day to get
married?"

"February twenty-ninth."

She rolled her eyes.  "Uh-huh, I see.  That way you only have to
remember it once every four years.  Very romantic."

"No, Scully, you're not looking at right.  February twenty-ninth is
actually present in *every* day for about one extra minute.  We just
choose to add it back in all at once."

Scully thought about the idea for a moment and realized he was right:
there was a bit of February twenty-ninth tacked on to every day of the
year.  She smiled at him.  "Okay, Mulder, you talked your way out of
that one.  Very well, I might add."

He grinned cheekily and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  "Told
you."

She shifted to lie next to him, pulling the covers around them and
listening as his breathing evened into sleep.  She closed her eyes and
the clock ticked off several minutes before she suddenly opened them
again.  Glancing once at Mulder, she slid quietly from the bed and
padded over to the top of her dresser, which displayed the mini calendar
sent courtesy of her savings bank.  She picked it up and shut her eyes,
taking a deep breath before turning it over to check the back.

Yup, there it was.

February 29, 2000 -- almost one year away.

She smiled and went back to bed.

XxXxX
~End~

Thank you for reading.  If you have any questions or comments, please
write me at syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Long winded author's thanks:

Big virtual hugs of gratitude to my two beta readers, Fawn Liebowitz and
Beaker!  This story is much stronger for your input, and I thank you.

Special thanks also to Alicia, for helping me through my mid-story
disenchantment and brightening my days with clever e-mail, and to jerry
and Kim for the early and frequent encouragement.

This story was challenging for me to write because a number of the
issues raised within it are quite personal.  I have been especially
appreciative of the comments and questions I've received along the way.
Thanks particularly to Angelique for sharing *her* story.  I'll be
rooting for you, dear. :-)

Galia, Pat, and Brigitte...what can I say?  You make my jaw drop with
your generosity.  Thank you.

Syntax6