(Headers and Disclaimers in Chapter One
Chapter 16 of 20

It should have been a huge moment: deciding at last what was of 
real value to her, what she truly feared losing. It should have 
been a surprising, illuminating, flash of light across her psyche. 
Scully reviewed what she had told Mulder and realized actually the answer
was one of those no-brainers. Something she'd always known.  One of 
those things investigators overlook because they are standing too 
close.

Or, in this case, not close enough.  Not nearly close enough.

Mulder, who was outside the bathroom collecting a blanket from 
the bed for what promised to be nightmarish hours on the couch, 
heard her laugh.  He knocked.  "No having fun in there without 
me," he called.  

The water shut off.  When she poked her head out she was only
wearing a towel.  "Can I borrow your tee shirt," she said. 
"Frohike forgot to pack anything to sleep in - I wasn't
expecting overnight guests."

"Frohike?" Mulder said.  "I packed for you."

She arched an eyebrow.  "You picked this hair color?"

"I thought I would like it."

She ripped the shirt out of his hand with sneer, and closed the
door.  She reappeared a moment later wearing the tee-shirt.  He
fingered the tip of her wet hair, now more red than black.

"Looking more normal all the time," he quipped.  She gave him a
quick smile and went into the living room.  He permitted himself
a fleeting look as she retreated, then cursed under his breath.
He hustled into the bathroom and climbed into a cold shower.

Scully noted the pillow and blanket on the couch.  She sat down 
beside the pile and rubbed her lips together. Tomorrow or the day 
after she'd be back in prison, her ability -- her right --  to 
choose or decide anything stripped from her again. She hated to
even think about it; it was stifling.

And she longed to be free.  Free of everything that held her down, 
made her afraid.  
*************

Scully had been sitting on the side of the bed, but she sprang up
when he emerged bare-chested from the bathroom. The pillow and blanket
he'd carried into the couch now lay back in their rightful places on 
the bed. The one candle included in her duffel bag bravely shone in the dark 
room--like her half-smile.

"Mulder, I don't mind sharing.  There's no need for you to be uncomfortable 
all night."

He grimaced and tried to grab for a pillow.  "The last time
we shared you demanded more than your half of the bed."

"I want to talk about that."

Now it was Mulder's turn to look embarrassed.

"Something you said reminded me.  That night-." She had
his rapt attention.  "I thought-"

"I know what you thought."

"I don't think you do."

"If this is some kind of apology for the next morning, forget it. 
You were confused, sick."  Mulder busied himself getting a pillow.

"No, ah- not an apology. More a point of clarification." Scully sat 
down, picked at the patchwork pattern on the quilt 
and exhaled through her mouth.  "I wasn't angry with you, Mulder. 
I was angry with myself. I, ah, I thought I'd missed it."  She heard a 
soft intake of breath.  "I couldn't remember anything that 
happened. The way I felt-I knew--Well, I thought I'd forgotten." 
Her lower lip trembled a little and she covered it with her hand,
then tried for a casual smile, "And I would want to remember
all about that."

Mulder looked undone.  His knee cracked as he sat next to her.  A satisfied, 
knowing smile slid into place.  He picked up the hands clasped in her lap.   

"Mulder?" Scully tilted her head slightly, suddenly suspicious that while
this may have all been a revelation for her, it was old news to him.  
Mulder shook his head as though it didn't matter and a small chuckle 
escaped her.

At the moment he seemed content to merely drank in the sight of her.  The eyes 
he searched allowed him full entry to see all that she had discovered about 
herself.  He enclosed her hands in both of his and carried them to his lips.  
And, at last, she unlocked her fingers and laid them against his face, caressing 
his cheeks.  
**************

Mulder slipped his hands up her back to cup her head, draw her closer.  She was 
so small.  She loomed so large in his mind  he often forgot the reality.  Her hair 
was still damp in places; the scent of shampoo wafted to him.  Her skin quivered 
and the tiny lines around her mouth twitched when he brushed her cheek and jaw line 
with his lips.  He started to put his hands over her ears, then let them slip down 
to her neck.  He wanted her to have full use of every sense.

His lips barely moved against her ear, his breath scarcely touched her, 
but he heard a quick intake of air.  He moved toward her mouth slowly, giving 
her every opportunity to turn away, to say it was a mistake.  But she only 
waited.  At last she closed her eyes, tilted her head and reached ever so slightly 
for him. 

It was enough.  He closed the gap between them gladly.
 
Their lips met and he almost groaned with pleasure.  She deepened the kiss and 
her hands slid down his chest to his waist.

"Scully," he said when he could.  His voice had already grown thick and hoarse. 

"Mmm-mm-m?" Her mouth was on his throat.

"Scully, I want my shirt back now."

They undressed each other hurriedly, but in the caring manner of old lovers, not
the reckless clawing of new ones. They were, after all, accustomed to each other's 
bodies as best friends are. This eager gentleness that heightened the
excitement of new discovery -- this was their reward for taking the trouble to 
become friends. Deeds and scars they could touch, and some they could only vaguely
recall, spoke of trust and devotion already given and received.   What
remained unexplained would soon be communicated in body language.

Mulder wanted to carefully examine every inch of her as if
he had never seen her before, didn't know her moods or thoughts,
didn't know her touch, her scent, her sighs, or her looks.  He
discovered his slightest contact with her skin drove her to
gasps and moans that streaked to his core.  He was hard in an
instant.  Her feather strokes on his face, his shoulders, his
chest, his belly caused him to quiver with delight.  Every inch
of her body pressed against him became a rivulet of fire
straight into his groin.  

He sought and gained entry to her mouth again and again, 
mating tongues as twisted souls in that warm
place.  His hands and mouth followed her contours up and down,
traced her peaks and valleys -- her soft cries telling him each
time his explorations delighted her.  

Scully sought his pleasure, as she did most things, with 
a care to detail and for once he was not impatient with her 
methods.  The hands that he'd seen rip
open a man's chest now tore into every part of his flesh with
amazing tenderness.  His hands, so large and clumsy next to hers,
sprayed out across her stomach and back to touch as much of her
skin as they could at once.

At first Scully's fingers traced his muscles, his bones,
and silently named each, "Mine, mine, mine.  God, mine."
She glided down his body with all her nerve endings firing.
Trailing kisses mingled with breathy gasps on his chest, his
nipples, his stomach, Scully listened with her ears, her mouth,
and her fingers to his body's responses.  Her hunger fed on his
but she had a moment, an instant really, to wonder if she'd be
too tight, if a painful entry would be her reward for denying
herself so long. 
 
She didn't wonder long.  Mulder's hands slipped
down her body and cupped her.  His fingers began exploring her
center until she nearly begged for him.  Perhaps she did.

He pushed her, stretched her, filled her, then set a pace
that made her buck, dig her fingers into his shoulders, and call
his name.  Mulder thrust deeper and Scully parried until they
reached a rhythm that pleased them both and brought them to
screaming, simultaneous release.

They lay spent and still joined, grinning at each other.
Amazed -- they so seldom reached any conclusion at the same
time.

Lying with most of his weight on his arms and elbows,
Mulder nuzzled her, kissed her.  He couldn't get enough of her
taste, her skin under his touch.  For all she fought this, for
all her worrying and analyzing, for all her self-defense, her
surrender had been graceful, her victory complete.  He was at her
mercy -- he wondered if she had any.  He'd never seen it
demonstrated.  Scully moved with a small sound.  Thinking she must
be gasping for air, he started to withdraw from her.

"No." She entwined her fingers in his hair and dug into
his shoulder to enforce her will.  Her eyes remained glassy, her
voice husky.  "Stay." She kissed his throat, his chin, his ear.
Scully's hands caressed the familiar face over her, tracing the 
lines with her fingers.  She concentrated on him: his
cheeks curving under her thumb, the length of him, the sweat on
his chest, the hair on his arms, the texture of his skin, the
throaty rattle of his love words, his eyes taking her in as
though she were a narcotic.  Scully realized she knew this look,
had seen it many times from him, but fear -- or caution --
blinded her and kept pushing him to the back of her mind. 

Now it may too late for anything but this.  She could not let
herself forget this fullness, the feel of being together, the
real power of mind and body.  He kissed her again and she tasted
him.  She had to remember it all.

Most of all she had to remember how he made her feel this
night.

"Don't memorize me, Scully," he said.  "It implies a certain
lack of faith."

She closed her eyes, believing him, believing in what they
were together.

Mulder eased out of her and onto a pillow.  He leaned up
enough to pull her into his embrace before sinking with a
satisfied sigh into the mattress.  She was too thin, he thought
with a frown.  He drew the sheet over them and she snuggled
against him.  He kissed her shoulder, soft and salty with the
sweat of honest passion.

"Scully." His mantra. He breathed into her hair and watched the 
dry hairs ripple.  His hand stroked her back.  She doodled idly 
on his stomach with one finger.

Occasionally her lips pressed against his chest and he thought
she licked him.  He pulled her closer and let his eyes droop
shut.  "Gimme five minutes," he said.

He could feel her mouth spread into a smile against him.
"Dreamer."

"Ten -- max."

Now she snickered.

One of Mulder's eyes popped open.

She would pay for that snicker.  He began stroking her again,
lightly at first along her back and buttocks with one finger, then
two.  Her cooling skin trembled under his touch.  It was Mulder's
turn to smile.  He cupped one cheek and kissed the top of her ear.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Passing the time," he said between nibbles.

She lifted her face up to him, eyes sparkling, and he
captured her mouth with his.  He sat up, forcing her over onto
her back to allow his hands full access.  He had her moist and
moaning, writhing in his arms, after only a few minutes of
tender ministrations with his mouth, his fingers.  

He could do this to her; she allowed it, wanted it.  
It was beautiful to watch her climb, resist, climax, and 
try to focus on his face again.  He didn't wait until 
her breathing leveled off before he smiled at her wickedly.

"Ten minutes are up," he said.

She pushed against his shoulder and looked alarmed.  "We
can't do this!"

"Sure we can."

"My lips are bruised." In truth, they were full, swollen,
and red.  Ripe.  Still, she made a weak protest --  made less
convincing by the hitch in her voice when his finger
circled her left nipple.

And then he couldn't wait.  He took her without finesse,
from hungry need, from years of loneliness.  She rose to echo
him, to meet him as she always had -- stroke for stroke, measure
for measure.  Her eyes loomed large and wide in obvious surprise
at her own nearly bottomless lust.  Mulder held out as long as he
could, until he felt her close, so close.  Their bodies, slick
with sweat, slapped together until she gasped, he cried out and
they gave themselves to each other once again.

They collapsed on the mattress and pillows, panting,
exhausted.

"Ahhh!" Scully yelped, swatting at her knee.  She fell back
onto the pillow. 

"I was hoping for something a little different, but-" 

Scully glanced at the peeling wallpaper and storage boxes.
"I couldn't be sure it was your hand and not a roach crawling up 
my leg."

"Must be a roach.  I can't move any part of my body."

"We can't keep this up, Mulder.  We'll kill each other."

"Sleepy?" He murmured.  "Please say yes."

They slept, wrapped in a sheet and each other.  Mulder woke
first, roused by the shaft of light through the window and his
own shaft.  He moved just enough to get a clearer picture of her
in daylight.  His dreams come true: a naked Scully in his bed,
his arms.  He ran his fingertips down her bare arm.  Soft.  He
tried his lips.  Still tasted faintly of salt.

"Mulder?"

He looked over her shoulder and she turned wide-eyed into
him.  Slow smiles stole across their faces and Mulder knew they
were thinking the same thing: real.  This was real.

For no reason that he could imagine, Fox Mulder did
something that he would not have believed possible - he fell
even more deeply in love with her.

She grinned in a slow sultry way that gripped him anew.  Her eyes already 
grew smoky with arousal.  Her hands dipped over her hip to his and 
began sinking lower and lower.

He leaned over to let her turn on her back, sank his lips
on hers, his hand skimming one breast.  She twisted her body with
a small cry of urgency, and curled her fingers around him,
thrilled by how quickly he responded to her.

"Tell me again why we put this off," he said, 
burrowing his nose between her breasts and his clever, teasing
fingers into her center.  He suckled her, listening for an
answer.

"Can't remember," she said on a gasp.  He felt her quiver.

"Don't wait for me," he said.  "I'll catch the next one."
*********************
She must have fallen asleep again after their early morning
romp.  Scully awoke with a contented tingle flickering across her
skin.  She stretched and grinned to the ceiling.  She knew he was
gone and where he was by the noise and the smell.  Coffee.  Bacon.
Bacon?  She was suddenly very hungry.

She got up and wandered - staggered might be more accurate
-- into the kitchen.  She was sore and terribly satisfied.  Mulder
stopped frying bacon when he saw her.  "I know.  Cholesterol alone
will kill you."

She hooked a piece already drying on a paper towel by the
stove.  "Gotta die from something," she said and wrapped her lips
around the strip.  The bacon in the pan popped and sizzled.

"Who are you and where is Dana Scully?  Never mind.  I like you better."

"Do you?" She acted hurt.

Cooking fork in hand he leaned over, paused and, when she
lifted her face, kissed her soundly.  His bright eyes reflected
what she felt.  He returned to the stove, fork tapping up and
down in his hand.  Was it so different now than it had been
yesterday? Her eyes wandered to Mulder's ass.  She drew a long
breath.  All pretenses gone.  Okay, it was different.  She took the
bacon between her teeth.  Deliciously.

"Egg?  As long as we're throwing caution to the winds," he
said.  "Scrambled in butter or fried in bacon grease?"

"Oh God. Neither," she muttered.  "Whatever possessed you to cook
like this?" She sat at the tiny kitchen table and her arm fell on the 
newspaper.

"'Southern Living' magazine. In my dentist's office." 

"You haven't been to the dentist in two years."

"It was a very memorable article," he said.

"You don't eat bacon?  Where did all this stuff - eggs, bacon...where 
did it come from?"

"I'm carnivorous, Scully.  Last night didn't do much for me."

She laughed.

"I meant dinner. I told the people at the store on the corner I wanted
stuff for breakfast and this is what they handed me."  Mulder heard the 
newspaper on the table rattle.  "I don't think it's a good likeness, 
incidentally.".

"You wanted to see the paper," she said, suddenly realizing why
he really went to the corner market and why he was so distracted he
bought bacon and eggs. "What are we going to do here, Mulder?"

"I've been thinking about that."

"When?" He caught the disbelief in her voice.

"I got up early - and stayed up."

"That's a physical impossibility."  She yawned and rolled her eyes
shyly up at him and realized her mouth was watering.  And not for
bacon or eggs. "What did you think of, then?"

"The robbery has to go forward," he said.  "As planned.  I
will be there with my partner from Dallas-"

"Partner?" she said sharply.

"A local expression.  My fellow survivalists from Dallas,
Denver.  And Skinner," he said.  "If it's not Donaldson, then
maybe the accomplice will show up."

"Donaldson could be there.  Legitimately.  If it is him, he
could claim a legitimate purpose for being on the scene," she
said.

"Doubtful," said Mulder.

"He may even have FBI agents of his own."

"That would be Skinner's job - to make sure his agents are
also ours," Mulder said.

"I hate to be the voice of negativism, but your bacon is
burning - and your plan does not prove anything."

She turned off the burner while Mulder moved the bacon off
the flame.  "I like burnt bacon," he said.

"How fortuitous," she said, helping herself to another
piece already on the paper towel.  "There seems to be some here."

"What is Donaldson's motive?" Mulder said.  "This guy's
hard to pin down.  I mean, he's kind, generous, philanthropic on
the one hand and mean-spirited, cruel, and dangerously ambitious
on the other.  Those would appear to be mutually exclusive
characteristics.  He seems to exhibit both male and female
qualities-"

"As do we all," she said.

"You don't stuff a sock in your pants and try to pick up
women.  Donaldson is a cross-dressing bi-sexual and maybe more,"
Mulder said.

Scully hummed thoughtfully.  "More? I really think that
covers it." She felt light-headed, almost giddy.

"He seems to change his personality with his clothes."
Somehow, something about that sounded right to Mulder.  Very
right.

"Multiple personalities?"

"It fits," Mulder said.

"Books and movies to the contrary, such a psychiatric
condition is extremely rare," Scully said." And if I remember
correctly, having personalities of different sexes in the same
person is almost unheard of."

"When this case is done I'm submit a proposal to 'The
Journal of Psychiatric Research'," he said.

"So we've solved his personality disorder.  When did you
become so fascinated with publishing scholarly work," she said.

"More important, who is his alter ego? Who influences him?
I interviewed his wife at your suggestion," Mulder said.  She
arched an eyebrow.  "Yes, ah, anyway.. she's an abused spouse if
not physically then psychologically.  There are several women in
his life that he was a strong relationship with including
mistress, but they all fit into that category.  When he is a she,
there is a couple who own the pet store and they find him-or
her- a quiet, gentle, reflective soul. But the only real open-mouthed
thing in the store are the dogs."

Scully moved to the kitchen table and stood over her
picture in the bottom left corner of the newspaper.
"Mulder, we have to be realistic for a moment.  We may not be
able to find the proof we need to clear me of this set-up."

"With all our skills and ta--"

"I mean, Donaldson may have destroyed it."

"He hasn't." Mulder said it viciously as though daring her
to deny it.  He put the smoking pan in the kitchen sink.  "Why
can't Zelda take over his mind the way he does yours?"

Scully thought a moment.  "I don't know that she hasn't
tried." Something popped.  "She said her mother once told her it
was dangerous for two women to occupy one man's mind."

"I think the truth of that has been demonstrated through the
centuries," Mulder said.  Before Scully could stop him he drained 
bacon grease down the sink.

Parts of this conversation pricked at the back of Scully's
mind.  They were close; she could sense it.  She knew first-hand that
the wisdom of two women in the same man's mind couldn't be literally
true.  Then what was it about that statement that kept showing up
with exclamation points behind it?

"I thought you said Zelda's mother disappeared when she
was young.  How would she remember what her mother told her?"

"Her mother kept a diary," Scully said.  Another pop went
off in her head.

"Keep going."

"A diary and some papers in pi--in code." She refused to
listen to his guffaws when she told him it was written in pig
Latin.

"Amelia Peterson traveled with Donaldson on his last
mission.  He probably learned this mild-meld near the headwaters
of the Mekong, with the monks he encountered.  If they were monks..."

"Couldn't be monks," Scully said absently.  Her mind had jumped ahead.
"It's highly possible Amelia was with him, writing down her
experiences and learning too.  She would be a more apt pupil."

"Where is this diary?"

"Zelda said she had it as a 12-year-old, that the military
delivered it to her with other papers in her mother's personal
affects.  Her grandmother is dead too - it would have to be in
storage-or with a relative," Scully said.

"Storage.  Relative."

They were silent for a moment.

"She was arrested in Virginia, raised in Maryland - any ideas, Mulder?"

"Call the guys. Maryland? Who else in this case lived in Maryland...?"  
He couldn't think. But it was someone important, he knew.

"So we recruit the Gunmen. Then?"

"Then we wait." He regarded her seriously, trying to look innocent. 
"Stuck here in this boring apartment..Can you think of something we could do 
to pass the time?"
*************************************
"Let's go," Scully said, reading over his shoulder.
"Berkin's Moving and Storage, Bethesda, Md."

"Where are you going?" he said, closing up the cell phone.

"With you."

"Scully?"

"After five days cooped up in this apartment I
would almost rather be in prison."

He pretended to be wounded.  "I thought I was being very
entertaining."

"I know what we're looking for," she said.

He examined her hair.  The red had begun to show, but it
was distinctly darker than her natural shade.  And curlier.  Much.

"You need a disguise," he said.  "Some glasses."

"I will not wear glasses with a fake nose and mustache,"
she said.  "Put that out of your mind."

Mulder looked extremely disappointed.  He had to hurry to
avoid being left behind.  He pulled the car around while she
hung in the shadows of the building entrance, then she
jumped inside.

When he gunned the car engine and she said, "Just obey the
traffic laws and we'll be fine."

"This could work," Mulder said as he pulled into traffic.
"Who would believe we'd be brazen enough to drive around in
broad daylight like real FBI agents?"

"Criminals do stupid things all the time-- that's how we
catch them," she said.

"We are not criminals," he said.  "Do I detect more
negativism?"

"That may be putting it too strongly," she said.
 
He stole a quick look at her profile -- something he'd done a hundred 
times before.  Her cheek rested on her hand thoughtfully, though it 
was also an effective pose to screen her face from view.  He'd never 
seen her do that before, or at least, not often.  

She lifted her face to him, smiled and covered his hand that lay on the 
seat.  "I was thinking of Zelda.  She's an extraordinary person, 
Mulder.  I wish you knew her.  Did you find her son?"

"His foster parents seem okay.  More foster kids than they can handle, 
it seems to me.  They are his third family, by the way.  Skinner 
checked them out and they are beyond reproach." Mulder said. "But 
Scott's under surveillance.  Skinner owes you that."

"Bernice has friends - they're the ones who are threatening Scott.  
Bernice likes to fly," Scully said.

"Fly?"

"That's what Zelda calls it.  She says to fly you have to give 
up something."

"Reading?"

"And memory.  And your privacy," Scully said.  "Part of your humanity."

Mulder whistled.  "Expensive."

"Hmmm."

They drove for almost an hour.  Mulder respected her need for silence; 
she appeared intrigued by everything she saw out the window.  Then he 
realized what she was doing: memorizing it. Something to pull out and 
cherish should she find herself behind bars again.