AUTHOR'S NOTES: These series of vignettes are inspired by
my recent trip to Washington, DC. My apologies to
residents of that city or the surrounding area for any
incorrect geographic or landmark references.

See additional Author's Notes at the end of Part 2.

All thanks to my betas Hillary, Duke, KatyBlue, and Keleka
who provide me with straightforward and insightful
comments, and keep me honest. A note of appreciation to
Tiny Dancer's XF transcripts which always serve as an
excellent reference tool. Thanks also to my
CrystalShipmates--I couldn't ask for a better support
group for my X-Files addiction.

Feedback is always appreciated...hey, I live for it!

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Key Bridge (2 of 2)

A cold Potomac wind blew across Key Bridge as I
assumed the mantle of your protector. Of course, as
partners and friends, we had each other's back for years.
But, with you setting the pace, we were slowly, inexorably
moving to a new stage in our relationship--and the
proprietary feelings it stirred within me swelled as we
drove from your apartment to your mother's house. You were
hurt, and it was my job to ensure that you not suffer
anymore.

"Mulder, I don't expect you to cover for me."

I felt my hands tighten on the wheel. When I didn't
respond, you continued.

"I don't expect you to cover for me, I don't expect
Skinner to look the other way, I don't expect The Gunmen
to clean up my apartment. I don't expect anything from
anyone."

Maybe it was the inhumanly cool professionalism you
exhibited in answering the DC cops' questions. Maybe it
was your insistence on going to your mother's home--"she's
in San Diego right now, Mulder"--instead of my apartment.
Maybe it was the illumination of the Key's bridge lights
through the windshield that revealed the bruising around
your neck.

But I think it was my own fear at the vacant, displaced
look in your eyes as you pulled the trigger that caused me
to slam my fist on the wheel. My voice sounded loud and
unnaturally pitched to my ears.

"Goddamn it, Scully, just once, why don't you let someone
help you? Why do you expect so much from yourself, and so
little from everyone else? Why don't you let people do for
you...?"

Of course, 'someone,' 'everyone', and 'people' referred to
me, but I wasn't sure if you heard my unspoken message. I
could barely see you in the darkness, but I knew you were
slipping away.

We pulled up to your mother's house, and I expected you to
slam out of the car without a glance back. Instead, you
sat quietly in your seat, folded into yourself, your head
bowed. Nothing was said.

I am not a believer in divine intervention, but something
guided me that night. I didn't over think my next move--I
just acted. I took over.

I got out of the car, collected your overnight bag, and
opened the car door for you. Blanket still wrapped around
you, you exited without a word.

As we got to your mother's door, I unlocked it with the
set of keys you gave me in our first years together.

I tentatively put my arm around your shoulder to steer you
through the door. When you flinched slightly, I found the
grace not to take offense but to understand that you had
been touched too much lately.

I settled you on your mother's couch, replaced the
bloodied blanket you were wearing with an afghan I found,
and went into the kitchen to make you some tea. When I
returned, you were ghostly pale and shivering
uncontrollably, and--while you assured me you were not in
shock--I recognized the symptoms of extreme emotional
duress.

You could barely hold the mug in your shaking hands. I had
to steady it so you could drink, and I saw a flash of
humiliation in your eyes.

The ague soon gave way to nausea. When you vomited in the
cramped downstairs powder room, I held a cool washcloth to
your forehead, and stayed with you as you emptied the
poison that was Donny Pfaster from your body. Exhausted,
you rested your head in my hand.

"Scully, let's get you up to bed."

"Mulder, I have to take a shower first."

We walked upstairs. As you undressed in the master
bathroom, I inadvertently caught a glimpse of your
reflection in the mirror through the door you left
slightly ajar. Your back was crisscrossed with scratches
and contusions. Even your implant scar bore the
unmistakable imprint of a thumb.

I closed the door quietly to give you some privacy, and
waited for you to turn on the shower.

When I heard the water running, I went downstairs to the
bathroom, stuck a towel in my mouth, and in muffled
impotence, purged the rage and fear that was Donny Pfaster
from my body.

Then I went back upstairs to take care of you.

The shower was still running when I returned. As I paced
back and forth, I thought I heard muffled sobs over the
running water, but to this day, I am not sure.

When you emerged wrapped in your mother's robe, I placed a
towel over your head in a gently playful attempt to
lighten the mood. "Your mother would hold me personally
responsible if you caught a cold."

And since you were now in graduate studies at the Fox-
Mulder-humor-for-emotion relationship school, you smiled
wanly and said, "You must have thought I'd drowned."

Without thinking, I placed my arm around you, but you
didn't flinch this time. Together, we walked to your
childhood bedroom. Two ceramic plaques with pink roses,
'Dana's Room', and 'Melissa's Room' graced the door. You
absently touched Melissa's plaque as you entered, and the
tenderness of the gesture made my chest tighten.

The room was small, consisting of two single beds
separated by a nightstand, a desk and chair by the window,
a dresser, a bookcase, and a rocking chair. No 'girly'
white furniture for the Scully sisters: solid honey maple
was the hardwood of choice. Above the beds, a shelving
unit held assorted bric-a-brac, trophies, and family and
school photographs. A crucifix hung over the door. A small
crystal ball hung in the window. Throughout the room were
posters of Bob Marley, Einstein, James Dean, Maharishi
Mahesh Yogi, the Serenity Prayer, and Buzz Aldrin on the
moon.

I felt instantly at ease.

You noticed me examining the moon-landing poster. "During
the Apollo 11 mission, Melissa was convinced--as only a
seven-year old can be--that the astronauts could see her
from the moon. My Dad had just taught her Morse code for
'hello,' so each night she went outside with a flashlight
and said 'hello' to them." You smiled softly at the
memory. "Mel thought they wouldn't be lonely if they knew
someone was looking out for them," you added thoughtfully.
"She was always the 'moonwalker' in the family."

"She may have been the 'moonwalker,' Scully, but every
Buzz Aldrin or Neil Armstrong needs a Michael Collins to
bring them home safely."

For a moment, your smile warmed the room at my modest
tribute, then disappeared. An expression of aching sadness
replaced it.

Damn. You might have rescued me repeatedly, but
Melissa didn't make it 'home' the last time. I berated
myself silently at the thoughtlessness of my words.

Despairingly, you started to move some decorative pillows
from your bed before I stopped you. I had to break through
the melancholy that had spread like a heavy blanket over
the room.

So, I called on everything I taught at the Fox-Mulder-
humor-for-emotion relationship school. I assumed my most
animated personae. I was dynamic, I was charming.

I was Fox Mantle all over again.

With exaggerated theatrics, I had you stand beside the bed
while I made a great show of pulling down the covers.

"Mademoiselle, may I fluff your pillows?" I waggled my
eyebrows suggestively. A slight chuckle of appreciation
from you spurred my efforts.

"What's this?" In my housekeeping duties, a small doll
fell from the bed to the floor. I held it up for your
viewing.

"Mulder, you've seen a Raggedy Andy doll before."

"I thought all little girls had Raggedy Ann dolls."

"Check out the uniform on the doll, Mulder. Did you think
I'd have anything else?"

Oh.

You took the doll from my hand and smiled wistfully. "Andy
and I went through childhood, adolescence, and medical
school together. He's a good friend."

If I could have frozen time at that moment, I would have
captured the softness of your face, the warm glow in your
eyes. The horror of the past few days had disappeared--you
were a young girl again.

I put the doll up on the shelf, and motioned you into the
bed with dramatic joie de vivre. You settled in as I
pulled your flowered comforter up around your shoulders.
I turned off the light on the nightstand and sat down in
the rocking chair. The light from a street lamp outside
the house streamed through the crystal ball hanging in the
window. I looked up in quiet delight as the room was
bathed in a kaleidoscope of reflected light and rainbows.

"The Lord's face shining down on us," you said absently.

"What?"

"My Mom always said that these lights were God's way of
bringing us peace. A sort of benediction."

"Is that why you hung the crystal ball in the window?"

"It was Melissa's doing. She said that a crystal would
adjust the flow of energy in a room. It would create a
more positive current."

"Sounds like your Mom and Melissa were on the same
wavelength."

You considered my words. "I've never thought about it in
that way." You peered at me through the darkness. "I'm
surprised at you, Mulder. I didn't think you'd give much
credence to my Mom's interpretation. I thought God 'only
checked the box scores' as far as you were concerned."

I deserved that. And you deserved some peace, my beliefs
aside. "I'm not quite the heathen you think I am, Scout--
especially where you're concerned."

I heard your breath catch. Several minutes passed without
any conversation between us, and I thought you might have
fallen asleep. Then quietly: "Thank you, Mulder." Your
voice trembled slightly. "Thank you." You held your hand
out to me.

"Thank you for letting me help you, Scully." I grasped
your hand and placed a kiss on your open palm. "Go to
sleep. I think I'll hang out here for awhile."

"Mulder, you don't have to stay in here. Why don't you
take my brothers' room?" You stopped when you saw my
expression.

"I'm going to sleep now," you said apologetically. You
didn't let go of my hand.

Sometime later, when I was certain you were asleep, I got
up quietly and pulled your Raggedy Andy doll down from the
shelf. Gently, I placed it underneath your arm, and then
settled back into the rocking chair.

"I'll take the first watch, Andy." It was silly and
sentimental, but as I watched over you, I was thankful for
the insular, comfortable confines of a young girl's
bedroom--and the spirit of a loving family--that kept the
monsters at bay.

At least for one evening.

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I had been your partner, friend, follower, and protector
during our seven years together. Our relationship had
evolved, but there were paths still to travel; choices
still to be made.

Bridges still to be crossed.

Was I to be your boyfriend? Visions of us as Frankie
Avalon and Annette Funichello cavorting on a beach seemed
superficial--and somewhat scary.

Was I to be your storybook lover? I saw Fabio and some
smitten vixen on a Harlequin Romance cover. Ah, no.

At least we were re-committed to each other
professionally; we had slowly worked our way back from our
blowout after the Spenders' deaths.

However, in our personal relationship, we still played
games. We traveled back and forth over Key Bridge,
spending more and more time with each other after hours,
but it was an unwritten rule that it had to come about as
an extension of work:

"Hey Scully, I'll buy the pizza if you take a look at this
report."

"Mulder, I can't look at another case file, let's
rent a movie."

We were standing on the precipice--and while I was ready
to leap--you were still fighting through the vertigo. I
think the ambiguity of our relationship disturbed you, and
I sometimes felt that you were unconsciously looking to me
to push us over the edge:

"Mulder, it is such a gorgeous day outside. Have you ever
entertained the idea of trying to find life on this
planet?"

"Don't you ever just want to stop? Get out of the damn
car? Settle down and live something approaching a normal
life?"

But I'd resolved to let you set the pace. I think it
left you frustrated and angry as much with yourself as
with me: you were sometimes withdrawn, other times
brusque. You were struggling with your emotions, and only
extreme situations like my mother's death or the
resolution of my sister's disappearance, seemed to allow
you to acknowledge the changing fault line in our
relationship.

That was until last week.

We had met by chance outside Washington National Hospital
following my return from England. You seemed eager to
speak to me, but we both had some errands to run, so we
agreed to meet later that evening.

A sharp rap on my door announced your arrival.

"Mulder, you've got to move, that bridge traffic is
killing me."

I smiled to myself as you repeated the greeting I gave you
when I first offered you my keys. To complete the picture,
I tried to throw an eyebrow at you without hurting myself.

"Scully, we can always meet at the office."

A devilish twinkle in your eye to my response told me you
remembered that day, too.

I was somewhat taken aback by our easy banter, given the
edginess of our conversation before I left for England.
But, as I quickly discovered, your arrival at my doorstep
that early spring evening would bring other surprises to
our relationship.

I listened in quiet amazement as you told me about Daniel,
your Buddhist visions, and the apparent insights you
gained into your life. I have to confess to a certain
degree of skepticism: to undergo such a life-changing
event in such a short period of time--and without me--
seemed somewhat contrived. But my skepticism was
overshadowed by your passion. I wasn't sure what pleased
me more: the fact that you appeared to have achieved a
level of peace, or that you were sharing your experience
with me.

On the other hand, maybe it was your stocking feet on my
coffee table, and the quiet familiarity that it bred.

No matter the reason, you were animated and expressive,
and I thanked whatever deity responsible for the
mysterious blond woman who led you to me again.

I was excited for you--I was also exhausted. Jet lag and
the late hour were claiming me, and I had to fight to stay
focused.

The emotion of the day seemed to creep up on you
as well--your voice had taken on a drowsy quality. "What
if there was only one choice and all the other ones
were wrong? And there were signs along the way to pay
attention to."

Your question was like a splash of cold water. Only one
right choice? What were you saying? Did you feel that you
had missed a sign? I made sure that the unease I felt
didn't reflect on my face. Oh-so casually, I tentatively
explored your meaning.

"Mmm. And all the... choices would then lead to this very
moment. One wrong turn, and...we wouldn't be sitting here
together. Well, that says a lot. That says a lot, a lot, a
lot. That's probably more than we should be getting into
at this late hour."

When I turned to see your reaction, you were asleep.

My Sleeping Beauty. My Mom used to read that story to
Samantha all the time: 'But they say if you dream a thing
more than once, it's sure to come true.' As I gently moved
a stray piece of hair from your face, I hoped it was true.
You stirred slightly and settled deeper into the couch.
For a moment, I debated moving you to the bedroom, but the
image of a disapproving eyebrow eliminated that option. I
placed my Navaho blanket over you instead, and considered
my next choice.

Choice made: I fed my fish.

I moved slowly from the couch and stretched, trying to
work the kinks out of my back. The fish food was beside
the tank. I began to sprinkle it along its length as the
fish bobbed near the surface in anticipation.

"Mulder, why do you keep fish?"

Your soft voice startled me and I turned to look at you.
The light from the kitchen shone behind you, making it
almost impossible to see your face.

"What, and leave Kang VI to fend for himself in some other
person's tank? I don't think so." Even at this stage in
our relationship, I relied on the Fox-Mulder-humor-for-
emotion relationship school when the atmosphere between us
became too charged.

Your silence told me you were not looking for that reply.
I cleared my throat and tried again.

"One of my roommates at Oxford was a student of religious
studies. He always kept fish."

"I don't see the connection."

I sighed. "Our second year, he introduced a tiger barb
into the tank. From the moment this fish was brought in,
he bullied the other fish for food. He nipped at their
fins and generally wreaked havoc in the tank. When he
wasn't fighting, he'd spend hours and hours bumping up
against the glass of the tank. Bump, bump, bump."

A sudden vision of the fish striking against the tank
unnerved me. "He never seemed to get the idea that he was
fighting an immovable object. My roommate said the fish
reminded him of the Buddhist Giddy Fish--consumed by his
secular passions."

I didn't mention that my roommate called the fish, Fox.

I hated that damn fish.

Your eyes narrowed at the mention of a Buddhist fish, and
I panicked briefly, afraid you might think I was mocking
your visions from the weekend. I watched closely as you
processed this information. My words became a mathematical
equation in your mind: aggressive fish plus roommate of
religious studies plus present-day fish tank
equals...what? A variable was missing.

"Were you consumed by your passions back then?" you asked
gently.

It was very still in my apartment. The only sounds were
the gurgle of the tank's filter and the buzz of the
refrigerator.

And the hushed echo of your voice in my head.

"Were you talking to my old roommate?" I joked weakly. I
became absorbed with putting the fish food away and
skimming up a small amount of algae that had formed in a
corner of the tank.

"Mulder?"

So much for tank maintenance. I turned to look at you. You
were perched on the end of the couch staring intently at
me.

"I was 'without a compass' for awhile." The unease I felt
earlier was growing. "Surely, that doesn't surprise you."

You regarded me thoughtfully. "What happened to that fish,
Mulder?" You were the one asking the questions, here. Just
the facts, sir.

I rejoined you on the couch, sitting down heavily. "We
found him dead one morning. There were scales floating
throughout the tank. It wasn't surprising--stupid fish. He
tired himself out smacking up against the tank walls, and
fighting, and--and that's when the others turned on him."

I wondered why I suddenly wanted to grieve for a fish that
I hated.

"You weren't...aren't...that fish, Mulder."

My short strained laugh caused you to stir uncomfortably
beside me. "You didn't know me then, Scully. And I think
we both know I'm one maraschino cherry shy of a fruit cake
from it happening again. As if it hasn't already."

Your fingers twined with mine. I smiled at the gesture,
and squeezed your hand. "Don't worry, Scully." I gestured
towards the tank, now an eerie blue glow in the gloom of
my apartment. "The fish tank is just a reminder of things
past. It makes me feel connected to who I once was--the
good, the bad, and the ugly."

"Maybe you should name your next fish, Dirty Harry."

You beamed at me. Equation complete. Game, set, and match,
Ms. Scully.

I had to laugh. "Dirty Harry it is, then."

We sat in comfortable silence, fingers still laced
together. My agitation from earlier was gone. I leaned my
head against the back of the couch as my eyelids began to
droop. You shifted against me, tucking one leg under you.
I felt your hand leave mine to feather lightly through my
hair.

"You know, Mulder, you shouldn't be afraid of your
passions--it's who you are." Your voice mimicked the
caress of your hand.

Agent Mulder, Line 2: Destiny's calling.

I opened my eyes slowly and looked over at you. Your gaze
seemed to be captured by the UFO ornament bobbing
hypnotically in the tank.

I didn't move. You continued to stroke my hair absently.

"Mulder, in some ways, I envy you. I've never been a
passionate person. My Dad used to call me an 'old soul.' I
always hated being labeled that way--but I guess he was
right."

"You're the most passionate person I know, Scully."

You looked at me in amazement.

But it was true. I saw it in your singular pursuit of the
science behind our cases; your devotion to your family and
friends; and your fidelity to your religion.

I saw it in your love for Emily. I saw it in your love for
Samantha.

I wanted to see it in your love for me.

"Sometimes, Scully, I wish you could see yourself as I
see..."

You leaned over and kissed me then, a fleeting brush
across my lips that hinted of orange pekoe tea, lipstick,
and New Year's Eve.

I reveled in the moment. "You see, Scully, only a
passionate person would throw caution to the wind and kiss
her partner..."

"Mulder, shut up and pay attention." Your voice was warm
and smoky.

"You have my undivided attention, Scully." In my mind's
eye, I saw an exchange of keys, a set of photographs, a
pair of sunglasses, a Raggedy Andy doll, a fish tank, and
a nondescript bridge.

Small steps. Signposts.

I was a traveler following a trail of breadcrumbs that had
led me to the right choice; the right path.

And as you moved to kiss me again, I knew that you
believed you were on the right path, too.
 

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AUTHOR'S NOTES PART 2:

In my little XF world, I have assumed that the Scully
family stopped moving from base to base in her late teens
and settled down in the current family home.

For those of you who are unaware, a Raggedy Andy doll
wears a sailor suit.

The Maharishi Mahesh Yogi was the founder of
transcendental meditation and a spiritual advisor to the
Beatles. For more information, go to
http://tm.org/main_pages/maharishi.html
I think Melissa would have been a believer.

The Serenity Prayer reads: "God, grant me the Serenity to
accept the things I can not change/Courage to change the
things I can/and Wisdom to know the difference." I think
Scully would have been a believer.

Michael Collins was the Command Module Pilot for Apollo
11. He stayed in the Command Module, 'Columbia,' while the
Lunar Module, 'Eagle' with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin,
landed on the moon. For more information on the Apollo 11
mission, go to
http://nssdc.gsfc.nasa.gov/planetary/lunar/apollo_11_30th.
html
To see the Buzz Aldrin poster on the Scully sisters' wall,
go to
http://nssdc.gsfc.nasa.gov/planetary/lunar/images/as11_40_
5903.jpg

"The Lord's face shining down on us" is paraphrased from
the Bible, Nu 6:24-35: "The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to
you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you
peace."

The use of a crystal ball to create a positive energy flow
in a room comes from the practice of feng shui. For more
information, go to
http://www3.eu.spiritweb.org/Spirit/feng-shui.html

In 'all things,' Mulder and Scully appeared to go directly
to Mulder's apartment after meeting outside the hospital.
In my little XF world, they had an off-camera discussion
and agreed to run some errands separately first.

"But they say if you dream a thing more than once, it's
sure to come true," was said by Briar Rose to her woodland
friends in Sleeping Beauty. The second part of the quote--
"And I've seen him so many times"--is, IMHO, a very nice
tie-in to Scully's visions during 'all things.'

The parable of the Buddhist Giddy Fish can be found at
http://www.magna.com.au/~prfbrown/buddha/carus_66.htm

The reference to the good, the bad, and the ugly is a
play-on-words for a Clint Eastwood western.

Tiny Dancer's X-Files transcripts can be found at
http://www.fandom.com/x-
files/editorial.asp?obj_id=38680&action=page.

Please visit the CrystalShip at
http://members.xoom.com/Crystal_Ship.

If you would like to read some more of my X-Files fanfic,
please check out Fran58's excellent site:
http://www.atmosphere.be/media/fran58/fabmon/fabmon.html.

Thanks for reading!