TITLE: Idylls 
AUTHOR: bugs
EMAIL ADDRESS: bugs1231@my-deja.com 
SPOILER WARNING: Mytharc episodes.
RATING: R for mature language and sexual situations
CONTENT WARNING: My content warning is that there will be no 
content warning.  If you want to know exactly how a fic is going 
to turn out after reading the first three lines, this may not be 
the story for you.
CLASSIFICATION: V, A, M/S
SUMMARY: It all seems to be over, but the Smoking Man has 
information that will change how Scully sees herself.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Ambress and Finn did this for me.  Big beta 
cookies of gratitude.  I know it was challenging.  Thanks to 
Sharon for the IMing encouragement when I tossed out ideas.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Post-colonization appears to be all the rage in 
fanfic these days so I felt I should participate in some capacity.  
See the end notes. 



XX~XX~XX~XX~XX

'Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?'

XX~XX


It's over.  They came. They apologized for the fuss.  They left.  

I'm oversimplifying an incredibly complex and intense experience 
that enveloped seven years of my life and tore through decades of 
other lives.

But after exhaustively spelling out the entire series of events 
for an investigating panel, a Senate Hearing and Larry King Live, 
I've lost my enthusiasm.  Now when I tell the story, I tell it 
short and sweet.

The sop-up took a few months but from the look of it you'd never 
know aliens had landed on earth.

These days I just go to the office with no expectation beyond the 
occasional monster search.  In the words of my Aunt Olive, 
'Careful what you wish for, child.'

Every morning when I arrive, Mulder has rearranged the furniture, 
is sorting files, or is up on a box, washing the windows.

He hums a lot. 

"Lovecats!"

"What?" I can't help asking.

"Lovecats.  The song.  Had it in my head all morning.  Finally 
remembered the title."

"Oh."  I stare at his new poster.  

'I Know For A Fact' is scrawled over the image of a hovering 
silver disc.

"How are you today, Mulder?"

One of the things left behind after the black ships flew away were 
skeletons.  Among them was a young adult female with a collarbone 
break.  DNA evidence completed the identification as Samantha 
Mulder.

He gave me soft smile.  "I'm fine, Scully."

I can believe him.  When I gave him the news in the cold autopsy 
bay, he said, "I knew."

"Mulder--"

He shook his head at my confusion.  "When I said I had to find 
her," he stroked her right femur, "This is what I meant.  I had to 
hold her again, that's all."

When I touched his hand, he smiled again and I had to turn away.  

He does that a lot now.  His eyes seem to be looking for something 
all the time, searching every room we were in, crawling over my 
body.

I don't feel fine.  I have the oddest sensation that pieces of me 
were falling away, leaving a breadcrumb trail out behind me.

One afternoon, Mulder had mentioned a case we'd worked in New 
Jersey and I didn't know what he was talking about.

"You remember, Scully," he exclaimed.

"No.  No, I don't."

He had shrugged and changed the subject, but I had been upset.  I 
don't forget cases.  I realized I couldn't remember that year. Any 
details at all.

Having lunch after church with my mother and friends, she had 
related a childhood story, the type told a hundred times until the 
details wear a groove in your memory.  All but mine.  I couldn't 
follow along.

More incidents followed, arriving closer and closer together.  
Misplaced keys became lost days and weeks.  I was concerned, but 
as with any odd detail in my life these past few years, answers 
could be even more disturbing.


XX~XX~XX~XX~XX~XX


The long uncomfortable ride had ended.  I had lost track of time 
and had given up attempts to keep my bearings.  My hands were numb 
from the bindings, my mouth was dry, and I blinked rapidly when 
the blindfold was whipped away from my eyes.

The old man stood in the blank room, thoughtfully looking me over.  

There was someone else in the shadows.  I waited.  Finally, the 
figure revealed itself.

What a surprise.  Diana Fowley.

The smell of burning tobacco reached my nostrils and I forced my 
attention back to him.

"Isn't the game over, Mr. Spender?"

"For you, yes."  I felt a prick of the fear of the unknown.

It was allayed when he said, "Your time is up."

My mouth was still cotton-filled but I gave a gasp of a laugh.  
"Oh?"

He stepped closer.  "Yes.  Your work is finished.  You've served 
your purpose."

I must admit, he'd piqued my curiosity.  I felt the familiar rush 
of excitement pound through my veins for the first time in weeks.

"What's my purpose?"

He and that woman both smiled.  I didn't.

"I suppose you can know.  Your job was to be a good partner to 
Agent Mulder.  Help him reach our objective."

I broke in.  "Oh?  You were on our side?"  I glance over at her.  
"I must have missed that inter-departmental memo."

She curled her red lips back and her teeth snapped.  "Yes, you 
little fool."

He silenced her with a jerk of his head.  She moved to fiddle with 
a television monitor in the corner. 

He cut to the chase.  "You are not Dana Scully."

That was a new one.  "Oh?  Who am I?"

I didn't like the way he looked up and down my body as though I 
was a prize lamb at the slaughterhouse.  "That isn't important.  
You were sent to replace Dana Scully after she was abducted."

It only got better.  "Why?"

"Agent Scully and Agent Mulder had become sexually involved."  He 
pulled his pack of cigarettes out and had the nerve to offer me 
one.  "We'd hoped breaking up their partnership would keep Agent 
Mulder on the course set for him, but it didn't happen that way.  
Instead, he and Agent Scully became closer still."  He smiled 
through his cloud of blue smoke.  "In hindsight, I realize the 
excitement of forbidden love only exacerbated the situation."

"I think I would have remembered having sex with Mulder."

He shook his head.  "No.  We didn't plant those memories in you 
and we took an opportunity to wipe that memory from Agent Mulder."

My head began to pound as I tried to think as fast as possible.

He droned on.  "You were instructed to distance yourself from 
Agent Mulder and to never pursue a relationship.  You followed 
that course perfectly."

Tipping his head towards Fowley signaled her to turn on the TV.  
The image formed on the screen.

A perfect suburban house.  White picket fence and everything.  A 
SUV pulled up into the drive.

A woman got out.  A woman with my face and body.  

"Who is she?"

He had been watching the scene with a small fatherly smile on his 
lips.  "She is Dana Scully.  For now she's living another life.  
She believes her husband is dead."

The woman opened the passenger door.  A small child pops out of 
the interior of the vehicle.  Dancing dark pigtails and freckled 
nose.  

A memory jerks forward in my mind.  Me, lying on a table.  With a 
belly swollen as though pregnant.  But I'm standing back and 
watching as doctors tend to that woman.  

I can feel the man's gaze.

"You see why it was necessary to remove Agent Scully.  She and the 
child would have been too great a distraction from his work."

She wears her hair long.  I like my hair short.  I used to wear it 
longer. . .

"Do you trust me?"

I blink.  "No."

"Good."  His voice is kind.

The minutes pass. She's pulling bags of groceries from the car.

He gave me time to think.  Mulder never gave me time; I'm tossed 
along on his storm.

A whisper now.  A thought out loud. "A child should be with her 
father."

I blink again.  I raise my shackled hands and push my hair back 
behind my ear.  A nervous gesture from childhood.  I remember it 
clearly.  

Bill was fooling around with his damned BB gun and shot me in the 
head.  A spent shot, the BB rested just under the surface of my 
skin.  He made me swear never to tell.  I was a good sister, I 
didn't, but I will stroke the nub, remembering how close to death 
I came.

It wasn't there.  No, it wouldn't be.  When was the last time I 
remember feeling it?  Or did I only know it should be there?

My eyes flick from the woman to the man.  

He snapped off the picture.  "You can have a life.  You'll go 
away, get a new identity."

He shrugged.  He had read my thoughts.  "I have no reason to 
destroy. . ."  He looked me over again.  "Such fine work.  We'll 
drop you off and you wait.  When we have everything set, we'll 
pick you up again.  Simple."

XX~XX~XX~XX~XX

Simple.  I think that over as I sit behind the desk in Mulder's 
office.  He's whistling again.

"Mulder?"

"Scully?"  He's buried behind a pile of reference books.

Dana Katherine Scully.  That is my name.  

"Nothing."

"Okay."  He sounds cheerful, as always.  The only part I can see 
of him is the occasional hand rising up to the top of the stack to 
pull down another volume.  

A beautiful hand.  Sculpted.

I concentrate.  Dana Scully and Fox Mulder made love right before 
the abduction.

I remember missing him with an ache of a freshly removed tooth. I 
remember my heart leaping when his voice whispered down the phone 
line to me.

"Scully, it's me."  That name again.

I pull my ID badge loose from my blazer and stare at the 
photograph.  Who was this person?  A picture taken in her first 
year with the X-files.  An outdated hairstyle and different make-
up.

I find a mirror at the bottom of my purse and compare the two 
images.  They look nothing alike to my analytical gaze.

With a shaking hand, I reattach the badge.

"Scully?"

I have to answer.  "Yes?"

I can hear a gulp from behind the pile.  "Uh--nothing."

He feels it too.  The way the earth seems to be rotating with a 
slight jerky motion, like a projector with a loose pin.

XX~XX~XX


I'm outside his door.  I'm going to do something Dana Scully would 
never do.  I'm going to walk in there and fuck Fox Mulder.  Like a 
naughty child, I'm going to steal a piece of candy before I leave 
the store.  

I think she owes me.  I've taken good care of her man for the past 
five years.

Not knocking, I unlock it.  

"Scully?"

Mulder is on the couch, bathed in the warm light of his lamp.

"It's me."

"What's wrong?"  He rises to come to me, blocking the light.

I like that.  I like the darkness.

"Scully?"

I hate that name, I don't want to hear it again, but I know it's a 
habit I'm not going to break him of tonight.

I move towards him and he takes a hesitant step back.

"Mulder--"  My voice seems to hold him still.

I see the glint of his tongue as it darts to wet his lips.  

I move closer.

"Scully."  

I can play along.  "Yes, Mulder?"

"Was there something you wanted?"

I smile.  He knows why I'm here.  

I take the last step and reach up for his mouth.  In the dark, I 
find only his lower lip and suck it between my teeth.  He gasps, 
and I strain upward to enter.

His arms wrap around me, lifting me.  Much better.

My hands course through his hair, pulling him down deeper into the 
depths of my mouth and my depravity.

I have to release him to breathe and he makes his escape back to 
the couch.

He's laughing and combing his fingers frantically through his 
hair.

"Wow, Scully!  What a surprise!"  

He waves a hand in my direction.  "No!  Let me put it another 
way."  He smiles sweetly.  "I dreamed--I've been waiting.  I 
wanted to give you all the time you needed.  So many changes in 
our lives..."

I advance.  I have to make him shut up.

"I'm here, Mulder," I say as I reach for his shirt buttons.

His brow furrows in confusion.  "Scully?  I--"

I have to swallow his tongue to stop its flapping.

Pressing him back into the couch, I tear at his clothing and mine.

Gasping, he forces me off.  "Scully!  What's going on?"

I roll up into a ball in the corner of the couch.  "Do you want 
me?" I ask.

He can't look at me.  "You know I do," he whispers.  He darts a 
glance at me out of the corner of his eye.  "I just thought...we'd 
take some time."

"Why?  What are we waiting for?"

He stares off across the room for a few moments and then shrugs.  
"Good point."

He meets me in the middle of the cushions. Covered, I'm blinded by 
his body.  Good.  I want to block everything out but his straining 
muscles and silken edges.  Now he buries me in the soft black 
depths of the sofa.

I'm running out of time, I know I am.  His clothes are gone so I 
tear at his skin.

"Scully...slow down," he insists as he pins my arms away from him.  
"We have all the time in the world."  That sweet smile again.

I can't stand it.  "Let me go."

He releases me immediately.  

I pull myself upright.  He's right.  I'd rather be taken after 
three deep kisses than one quick fuck.

I find his mouth again, this time exploring the corners like a 
hesitant swimmer, dipping my toe in first.

He moans in approval and his hands sweep over me, molding and 
shaping my now loose muscles into a smooth Henry Moore sculpture.

"Scully," he whispers against my lips before slipping down my 
body.  "Scully, I--"  My fingers stop him from saying that name 
one more time.  

I ask again.  "Do you want me, Mulder?"

From the valley between my breasts, he answers, "Yes, always."

I have to know.  "When, Mulder?  From when?"

He rolls over onto his back, pulling me with him.  My last 
garments fly away under his busy hands.

"Outside Ellens Airbase, when you said, 'Get in the car, Mulder.'  
I loved you then.  I was probably reading too much in your words, 
but--"  I can feel the heat of his blush against my suddenly cool 
skin.  "I felt like someone wanted me.  Even if it was just so you 
didn't have to explain to the AD how you'd lost your partner after 
only one month."

Ellens Air Force Base is in the state of Idaho.  I can't remember 
being there.  That was her past, not mine.  "I wanted you."

"Did you?"  His voice is hopeful.

"Yes, Mulder.  Always."  I know it now, in my last few minutes as 
Dana Scully.

I won't listen to his endearments, only the messages spoken by his 
body.  It calls no name.  It loves the body beneath it, a dark 
soul stealing its light for a brief moment. 

XX~XX~XX


At the dawn, I walk towards my car on aching legs, Mulder seeping 
out of me with every step.  The black van pulls up beside me.

The side door slides open.  I stop.

"It's time."

I nod and climb into the dark interior. 

Looking around, I ask, "Where's Fowley?"  I want to know if I have 
to spend the rest of my life in her company.

He speaks from a shadow.  "She isn't privy to every part of my 
work."

I hear the hiss of his lighter and feel my eyes burn as smoke 
fills the space.

A ghostly pale hand appears before me.  "The necklace..."


XX~XX

Part 2:

'From the great deep to the great deep he goes.'

XX~XX


The first time I got the call, I carefully preserved the tape as 
evidence. 

"Mulder!  I need your help!"

Over the next months, I would take it out and play it, telling 
myself I did that to keep myself hungry.  I was hungry all right. 

This time, a computer chip recorded the message in my answering 
machine.  

I pick up the black hunk of plastic and slam it against the wall 
until it shatters in my bloody palms. 

When the chip is dislodged and spins around on the floor, I scoop 
it up and swallow it.  I don't want to think about what that 
means.

The message had been very static-filled and kept breaking up.  She 
was on her cell phone.

<Mulder?  Mulder?  I'm afraid, Mulder.>

I lost her to hissing and popping.

<The plane's in trouble, Mulder.  Mulder?>

<There's a storm, Mulder.>

I glanced outside the window.  The sky was clear. 

<I...>

I noticed that my potted plant is dying.

<I love you, Mulder.>

I couldn't absorb these words.  The line went dead.  

The next message.

<Special Agent Fox Mulder?  This is the Nashville office.  Your 
partner, Special Agent Dana Scully, is believed to have been a 
passenger on a jet that crashed attempting to land in a severe 
storm this afternoon.  An ID card found on a body has you as the 
person to contact.  If you could come to Nashville to possibly 
identify the body as soon as possible?> 

I don't call Mrs. Scully yet.  This is wrong.  This isn't Scully.  


XX~XX~XX~XX~XX


Black body bags are neatly lined up within the cavern of an 
airport hanger.  The official walks me down an aisle.  Some of the 
shapes still smolder.  The smell is beginning to rise and settle 
into the air.

He stops at a small bundle.  He tries to reassure me.

"Death was a result of severe trauma from the impact with the 
earth by the plane, but the body is intact."

"Yes.  Open it." 

I need to find out what was going on.  I need to start my search 
for her.  This is where the trail begins.

He pulls the zipper open.  I look down at the body.  It's not 
Scully.  Scully is alive.

A body with short stature and fine-boned build lies on the cold 
cement.  The face is untouched.  The eyes closed.

I kneel down. The features are correct on the head, even the mole 
on the upper lip. I push a clump of hair away from the ear.  The 
diamond solitaires.  One quarter caret.  They could be purchased 
at any jewelry store, but they are items owned by Scully.

The hair has become stiff and matted with fire-retardant.  I can't 
tell if it is soft enough to be hers.

"Sir?"

I don't respond.  I pull open the eyelids.  It's impossible to 
determine if these are her eyes.  They are cobalt blue, but dim 
and flat, devoid of light.  Out of respect for this woman, I brush 
the lids shut.

A hand is touching my shoulder.  

"I'm examining the body to determine identification."

I pull the plastic all the way off the body, and roll it over.  
Pulling the shirt up, I see the tattoo blazing out of a mesh of 
bruises on the back.

Skinner is there.  I can hear his low, deep voice reassuring the 
man who'd escorted me.  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see 
other uniforms beginning to inch towards me.

Sweeping the collar of what had been her favorite white blouse 
down, I gasp in joy.  Her neck is bare.  They'd forgotten to put 
her necklace on this body.

"It's gone," I say to Skinner, craning my neck to look up at him.

"Sir?  Are you looking for a necklace?" a weedy young man asks 
from the gathering around the body.

I don't answer.  I don't want to lead him.

He crouches on the other side of the body and lifts her right 
hand.  Clutched in the frozen fist is a glint of gold.  He starts 
to open the hand.

I stop him. "No.  Let me."

I gently pry the fingers free from the chain.  The cross is 
pressed into the palm.

The man pushes her hair away from her neck.  He whispers, "See?  
Here."  His fingertip traces a harsh red cut.  "She must have been 
holding the cross and at impact, it broke free."

I grip his fingers for a moment and he looks afraid.  

"Don't touch her."

"No, sir."  He gets to his feet slowly.

"Mulder."  Skinner is still behind me.

I look at the face again.  It just doesn't look right.  That 
smoking bastard is a fucking idiot if he thinks he's fooled me 
this time.

I lift the body from the cold surface.  Loose, broken, it bows 
back over my arm.  I watch the limp neck arch, a white polished 
bone under the florescent light.

"No."

I drop this bit of trash back down.  

"It's not her."

Skinner is trying to make nice.

"Mulder."

"No."

He is talking again.  Not to me.  To the uniforms.  Low and fast.  
Ordering genetic tests to be performed on the body.  It won't 
matter.  Those tests will say whatever needs to be said to make me 
shut up and go away.

I don't care.  I'm walking away.


XX~XX~XX~XX~XX~XX


Mrs. Scully comes to see me the next day.  She opens the door with 
Scully's key.  I'm sitting on the sofa.  I haven't cleaned up the 
phone machine.  She steps over it and sits with me.

"Fox?"

"Mrs. Scully?"

"Please call me Maggie."

"I'd rather not."

"All right."  She reaches over to the side table with a slim gold 
hand and pulls a brown leaf from my potted plant.

"Fox?"  She seems to be pushing her heart down her throat to clear 
it.

"Yes?"

"Is it her?"

I stroke the warm cushion beside my leg.  I can still hear 
Scully's frantic panting pounding against my walls.

My neck is as limp as that body's.  My head rests on the back of 
the sofa.  Knowing I should look her in the eye when I answer, I 
still can't lift it.  "No."

"I don't think so either."  Her fingers crinkle the dry leaf to 
dust.  "She doesn't feel dead to me."

"Does Melissa feel dead?  Your husband?"

"Yes."  The sun is setting outside my window.  I can see the 
reflection of the vivid orange orb caught in the tear on her 
eyelashes.  "But I'm not sure if Dana doesn't feel gone because I 
can't take one more loss, or--"

"No.  It wasn't her."

She must be thinking.  She's quiet and the room slips into 
darkness.

"Find her then.  Find her for me, Fox, and bring her home."  

I can finally lift my head.  I have to.  Her fingers, suddenly 
strong, have gripped my chin.  Her eyes are as tired as another 
burnt leaf still hanging from a stem on my plant.

I'd done this once before.  I'd begun a search that had worn me 
down, twisted and stunted like bonsai. 

"I will."


XX~XX

Part 3:

'Into the jaws of Death,
 Into the mouth of Hell.'

XX~XX


I'm being followed.  I've done everything I could to avoid this 
situation and now that it's upon me, I'm curiously unaffected.

I realize I don't care.

I can't think of a better place to die.  

The streets of New Orleans are sweating off their late evening 
rain shower.  I can hear every step around me.  Nervous tapping of 
hurried movements.  Slow, uncertain steps signifying a drunk. 
Purposeful strides of the tourist.

One set of steps mirror mine.  Only one.  I might have a chance 
after all.

Stopped by beauty, I'm distracted by a woman singing in a dead-end 
alley.  Her upturned hat lies at the entrance to the alley, 
collecting raindrops and a few coins.

Her tune has changed.  "Amazing Grace."  How appropriate.  

The notes rise from her throat, sliding off of the brick walls to 
escape the poverty of its origins.  The singer's dark skin shines 
deep purple in the reflection of the street light. 

When the hands grab me and throw me to the wall, the singer 
doesn't notice.  No one notices.

I'm surprised at myself.  I fight.  I thought I had no fight left.  
But the body is too large, pressing me into the wall, covering 
every inch of me.  

"Mulder."

"Scully."  His quick breaths are sharp as nails over my face.  The 
next word is a slap.  "Why?"

His large fingers grip my neck, dragging me into the circle of 
light from the lamp.  Shaking fingers scrape at the skin at my 
throat.  "You gave them the necklace.  It was your necklace.  But 
it wasn't you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I slap in return.

He withdraws his hand.  He's pulled the scab from the back of my 
neck.  His fingers are bloody.

"Why?"

"I didn't want them to be able to follow me.  He said they 
wouldn't hurt me, but I didn't trust them."

"You ran because you were scared?"  He has never sounded so 
astonished at anything I've ever said.

I have no idea what to say.  I can't preserve the lies.

I stay silent. 

"What the hell is going on?"  He's still talking.

"Go home, Mulder.  Go home and wait."

"Are you out of your mind!?"

I'm suddenly tired, more tired than I've ever been in seven years.  
I want him to go away. "All the times you left me, wondering, 
afraid.  Did it just piss you off that I left you for once?"

He envelops my body, pressing me against the warm, wet bricks.  
"No.  What pisses me off is that you fucked me and left me."

I've got a back-up.  "Don't tell me it hasn't happened to you 
before."

He actually laughs.  An odd, cheerful sound.  "A time or two.  
Why?"

He has got to be the most obstinate motherfucker I've ever met 
in my entire life. 

Tired again, I just blurt out, "What the hell.  It doesn't matter 
anymore.  You've screwed everything up."  I try to pull out of his 
grip.  "As usual."

"I improvise.  I don't screw things up."  Cheerful.  How can he 
always find something to be happy about in the most hot and fast 
brush fire?

I'm suddenly afraid for him.  I push him into the alley.  "Amazing 
Grace" is winding down.  The streets have emptied.  

"Well, you're going to have to improvise your ass out of this 
one."

"What about you?"  He's still thinking of us as partners.

I need to shake him loose, I can see that.  "I'm not Dana Scully."

Of course he laughs.

"Scully..."

"Stop calling me that.  I'm not her.  Your Scully is coming back, 
soon."

He's lost his patience.  "What the hell are you talking about?  
Dammit, Scully!"

"If you call me that one more time--"  I'm furious.  I hate her.  
I hate her for having this man love her so much.

He pulls back at last and I can see it's beginning to sink in.  
Good.  I have to take the name away.  The name that I'd heard a 
thousand emotions wrap around.

"Then who are you?"

"I don't know."

"Where's Scully?"  He's asking the question, but I know he's not 
taking me seriously.  He's testing me.  

"I don't know.  They didn't tell me anything more than I needed to 
know."

"Why would they do this?"  He thinks he's playing chess with me.

"I've seen her."

"What?"

"I've seen your Scully.  She thinks you're dead.  That's why she 
didn't come for you."  I can't make myself tell him everything.

His eyes narrow.  "You've seen her?"

"Yes.  Video.  You think I wouldn't know...my own face?"

Suddenly his face is close to mine.  He whispers, "Okay.  So, you 
aren't Scully.  My Scully is coming to me."

"Yes."

"Then whose body did I have to I.D. in Nashville?"

He's trying to trick me.  "What?"

"There was a body.  It looked like you, but I knew it wasn't you."  
His finger lightly traced a circle on my collarbone.  "It was 
wearing our necklace."

An odd way to put it.  Our necklace.  I had felt as though I'd 
betrayed him when I gave it to that old bastard.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know.  The blood tests say it's you.  The fingerprints 
say it's you."

"But--" I ask.

"I knew it wasn't you."

"You don't understand.  I don't know why they showed you a body.  
But I know I can't remember her life anymore," I whisper.

Stubborn, he says, "Do you remember I love you?  That you love 
me?"

"Mulder..." I'm shaking my head in amazement.  "All the times I've 
asked you to trust me--"

"No, Scully.  It wasn't you."  

Trying a different track, I ask,  "Then who is it?  Why?"

"I don't know that yet."  He starts hurrying down the street, 
fugitively glancing to and fro as he drags me along.  

I gasp in exasperation.  I can't escape this man's relentlessness, 
even after I turned in Scully's I.D. card.


XX~XX~XX~XX~XX~XX~XX~XX


When I said Fowley was there with the old black-lunged bastard, 
Mulder wanted to start with her.  I was concerned, but it 
shouldn't matter for me anymore.

"Scully--"

"Stop calling me that."

"Than what should I call you?" 

He had me there.  "I don't know."

"Then I'll just keep calling you Scully for now."

Bastard.  Doesn't he realize it kills me every time he says her 
name?

"Why was she there?" he mused.

I controlled myself with admirable strength.  It's not my business 
anymore.  It's Scully's problem.  The role of that thin-
lipped, fake-titted, nasty old bitch...

He talked on.  "She must be working with him."

I gritted out, "Yes, I would think so."

He didn't notice.  

I told him, "I have the phone number for that smoking man.  We 
could just call him and ask him what's the deal.  I mean, where 
the love of your life?  Shouldn't she have turned up by now?"

He looked at me through squinting eyes.  He opened his mouth, and 
then closed it again.  "He gave you his number?"

"Yes.  I was supposed to keep in touch."

"Why?"

I realized not being Scully had its advantages now.  "I don't 
fucking know!" 

"Let's start with Diana.  She'll easier to get answers out of."

XX~XX

Tonight I'm surrounded by a different kind of woman; a kind I've 
never been and never would want to be.  Silk, satin, cloying 
perfume.  She's everywhere and I can't escape.  Diana Fowley.

I'm in her very large, very full closet.  We've set up a 'viewing 
station' for me, better known as a peephole drilled into the wall, 
looking into the living room.  I could also peer out the crack in 
the door into the bedroom, but Mulder doesn't think I'll need that 
view.  We'll see.

The front door opens.  They're here, returning from an intimate 
dinner for two at that Italian place in Georgetown Mulder always 
told me he would take me to sometime.

He's protesting.  She's inviting him in for a nightcap. 

She's dragging him in with one red-taloned claw.  He's putting up 
a token resistance.  He's a better actor than I am.

I hear the creak of leather as she presses him down into the long
sofa.  His voice is suddenly stilled.  Oh yeah, Mulder, you've 
got her number, all right.

I watch the two perfectly matched bodies roll leisurely on the 
couch, the two slick black heads twist and turn in their mutual 
exploration.  I have an uncontrollable urge to urinate in the 
corner of her closet.

After hundreds of horribly long seconds drag by, the phone rings.  
Pushing her hair out of her face, Diana picks up the receiver.  
She murmurs something to Mulder and he rises from the couch, 
shifting across the room.

I lean closer to the hole, trying to make out the phone 
conversation.  Mulder has disappeared.

He's in the closet with me.

"Get back out there," I hiss.

"She's on a conference call with London."

"She told you that?"

"She told me she'll be tied up for a few minutes."

"Is she going to ask why you were in her closet?"

"What do you think?"

"I think she wants to fuck you."

"I think you're right.  Not the actions of a woman who's going to 
hand over my girlfriend anytime soon."

"I suppose," I mumble.  He's very close and her damn scent is 
making my head spin.

"Should I fuck her?  Do you think that'll get some answers?  
Pillow talk and all."

"How could you do that to Scully?"  I'm too loud and he claps a 
hand over my mouth.

His lips are on my ear, his breath stirring my hair.  "I want her 
back.  I want her back so bad.  I'll do anything.  Anything 
necessary."

I turn my head so I can see his eyes in the dim closet.  They're 
amused.  Fuck him. 

I bite his palm and he releases my mouth.  "Then fuck her."

"I can't.  I can't get hard.  I need help."

That son of a bitch thinks this is funny.  I'm suspicious.  I 
shuffle closer and press my thigh between his legs.  I was right.

"I don't see any problem."  I bite his ear as I whisper these 
words.

He groans.  "That's for you."

"I'm sure it's an all-purpose erection."

"Scully, stop bullshitting.  How can you believe this scheme?  
She's not going to bring the little woman out any time soon.  She 
wants me for herself."

Arrogant SOB.  "She could have gone rogue on the old bastard."

"For the love of a good man?  I doubt that."  I'm mildly surprised 
to discover his hands have found their way under my sweater and 
are covering my breasts.  His grip is firm, but his touch is 
gentle, stroking lightly across my suddenly goose-pimpled skin.

"Mulder--"

"Yeah?"  His voice is deep.

"Mulder--" 

"Just tell me what you want."

"I want you to go out there and find out what the hell is going 
on."

"I've already determined Agent Fowley's intentions.  And you're 
right, she's kept my woman from me for too long."

"No, Mulder--"  How can I be this weak?  I asked myself that very 
question the night I let Ed Jerse do what Mulder is doing right 
now, slip his big hand down my belly to unzip my pants.

I was cold that night.  His apartment was cold.  This night is 
different.  The closet is stifling.  Every breath is sucking the 
air out of the space until my head swims.

I can't think.  I can't make a judgement.

I can hear myself whining like a small puppy.

Mulder is cooing to me, trying to calm me.

His hands are lifting me to settle on his lap and I gasp at the 
feeling of dew-slick skin against skin.  

"Scully?"

"Yes."  I answer his call.  I can be Scully for ten more minutes, 
can't I?  Surely she'll allow me one more selfishness?

I rasp in his ear, "We have to be quiet."

He promises.  "Oh, yes."

I lick the sweat from his neck.  "She can't hear."

His arms are bands of steel holding me to him, lifting me again.  
He says, "I swear I'll keep quiet."

"Promises, promises," I moan, as I'm filled with his heat and 
strength.

"Yeah--" he rumbles as I push his shirt up and pull my sweater up 
under my armpits.  I want to feel as much skin as possible.

My breasts slide across his chest, the nipples tingling with the 
sensation of prickling soft hair.  

I listen to the low murmur of Diana's voice on the phone, the 
static tones ticking off the seconds we have together.  Our 
gasping breaths beat in a counter rhythm.

"Scully. . ."

"Silence," I warn, placing a hand over his lips as I rise and fall 
on the undulating wave of his thighs.

His open mouth takes in my stifling hand, suckling on the fingers 
desperately.  

I like that feeling a lot.  I manage to guide his hand to my mouth 
and latch onto two of his fingers, exploring their surface with my 
tongue and teeth. 

His free hand presses my hot ass harder down onto him and I have 
to bite down on his fingers until I feel the groan of pain swell 
on his tongue.

My ears pick up Diana's voice again.  It's making those winding 
down sounds.  

"Mulder. . .Hurry!" I rasp around his fingers.

My giggle gurgles out from around his saliva-slick fingers.  When 
was the last time I told a man to hurry during sex?

As he pushes up into me and I grind down onto him, I have to pull 
my mouth off of his fingers.  I'm not getting enough air, and I'm 
drowning in my own sweat.  Her cool leaves of designer wear, 
hanging over us like victory flags, wipe my face dry.

I plunge my face back down, grabbing the tendon on his neck, 
muffling my cry.   

Pulling my hand out of his mouth just in time and covering his
lips again, I hold in his moans.  I'll be marked by the red 
crescent of his teeth marks on my palm.

We don't have the time to recover.  I hear the click of the phone.

"Mulder, hurry!" I hiss as I disentangle myself.

"Huh?"  

Damn!  He's not going to be able to pull this off.  He reeks of 
sex and is drenched.

"Mulder, get it together." My groping hand finds a misplaced pair 
of her panties and I wipe his cooling, softening flesh dry of our 
mingled essence. I start pulling and pushing his clothes back in 
their original order.  "Go to the bathroom and cover the smell 
somehow."

As he crawls out of the closet, I see her beginning her search of 
the apartment through my peephole.

"Fox?"

She's coming into the bedroom.  I can't stop myself from wiggling 
over to the crack in the door to watch her snap on a light and 
check her makeup.  She's adjusting her bra, pushing her breasts 
back up onto their shelf of Wonderbra. 

She notices the light under the bathroom door.  

"Fox?  Are you all right?"

He yells out, "Sure, Diana!  Something I ate tonight didn't agree 
with me, that's all."  Slick, bud.  Seduction technique number 16, 
I'm sure.

She backs away from the door.  "Okay.  I'll be waiting out here."

After I hear the water running for a while, he passes through the 
bedroom without giving the closet door even a glance.

I hear the couch creak again.

"I've told them not to call me again tonight.  We won't be 
interrupted any more."

Mulder sounds nervous.  "That's good."

I watch her shifting towards him on the couch.  He scoots away.  

"Fox, is something wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"I expected something more from you tonight."

"Like what?"  I wince.  Not subtle, but maybe he's lost patience. 
I know I have.

"I thought you wanted to be with me tonight."

He's brutal.  "Like have sex with you?"

She simpers and I have to hold my breath to keep a curse from 
bursting out.  "Whatever developed. . .I thought. . ."

"You thought with Scully cold in the ground, what? Uh, three 
weeks--"

"What's Dana Scully got to do with this?"  She could be brutal 
too.

He looks her straight in the eye.  "You know I'm in love with 
Scully."

"No, as a matter of fact, I didn't.  I'm truly sorry if that's the 
case--"

"She's not dead."

"What?  Fox, I know you don't want to admit--"

He repeats, "She's not dead."

Damn him.  I see a shift in her eyes, calculating, weighing.  
Damn him, he's blown the whole thing.

I hadn't counted on the cliche of a woman scorned to divert a 
usually sharp mind.  Pity the woman who thinks with her cunt.

She rises from the couch and suddenly appears very large, looming 
over him.  He presses back into the cushions to get away.

"Fuck!  Fox!  She's dead!  She's gone!  She never gave a shit 
about you anyway!"

He's trying to garble something out, but she's only given him the 
time it took her to take a breath.

"I loved you!  I gave you five years of flat-on-my-back obedience!  
I let you run off on your hare-brained leads, leaving me in bed!  
I let you think you were right all the time, when you know what?"

He shook his head.

"You were full of shit, Fox! To the brim!"

Careful what you wish for, Mulder.  I think you had it and just 
didn't realize.

"You were supposed to follow me!"

"Huh?"  He truly isn't getting this.  I've never been so grateful 
for his thick-headedness.

She spits out, "You were supposed to follow me to Germany.  You 
were supposed to want to marry me."

"Why didn't you just say so?"  He's actually trying to use logic 
on her.

She slaps him so hard I can feel it on my cheek.

I struggle to my feet.  I think the evening is over. 

When I get out into the living room, they're wrestling.  I'm sure 
she's hoping this will turn into a 'I hate you, now fuck me,' 
session, but Mulder is truly fighting for his life.

"Hey."  I break it up.

She's speechless for a whole five seconds.

First she slaps Mulder again.  Then she starts cursing all over.

"That old motherfucker!  I blew that wrinkled old dick of his and 
he fucks me over for the little princess!"

I break in.  "Where is he?"

"Fuck you!"  She's huddled in the corner of the couch, wild-
haired.

Mulder actually tries reason.  "If I ever meant anything to you, 
Diana--"

I decide to spare him another tirade.  I reach over and slap her 
mouth to shock her out of her fury.

"Where?  We'll take care of him for you."

"You won't do a good job," she sneers, shooting Mulder a 
disparaging look.

"Yes, I will," I promise.  "Where?"

Her eyes are as flat and dark as a shark's.  "Just promise me 
you'll kill him for me."

I feel the flush of victory.  It feels great layered on top of a 
post-coital glow.  "Sure."


XX~XX

Part 4:

'For men may come and men may go,
 But I go on forever.'

XX~XX


I'm waiting for him at the address given to us by Diana.  Scully 
is in the closet again.  She says she likes the element of 
surprise now.

I've turned the lights out and my other senses are on alert.  
Drifting in this man's apartment are the sour odors of overcooked 
cabbage and old nylon dress socks.  Otherwise, it smells musty and 
empty.

I'm still juggling her latest lob.  

"Mulder, before he gets here, I need to apologize."

"Why?"

"I used you in that closet.  I'm no better than Diana."  I could 
see the glint of tears in her wet pearl eyes. 

"Scully--"

"No!  I've told you.  No."

I waited.  There was more.  I lost feeling in my extremities.  

"There *is* another Scully.  The two of you were lovers, once.  
Then they took her.  They altered your memories.  But there was 
something that didn't go away.  She had a baby, Mulder. I've seen 
her.  She's--"

I exploded.  "No, Scully!  Don't you see?  They *know* you.  They 
put the child in the equation because they knew you would never 
keep a parent and child apart.  It's not real, Scully.  It's not!"

"Is it not real because you don't believe me or because you're 
afraid I'm right?"

She had slipped into the closet before I could form an answer. 


I tense, my attention focused again as the door opens.  The 
silhouette is lean with a trail of smoke rising away from the 
head.  He pauses.  He must sense my presence. 

I cut to the chase.  "Shut the door.  We don't want to scare your 
neighbors."

He waits a moment.  Fucker.  I click the hammer back on my gun.  
He closes the door.

"Mr. Mulder."

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" I'm amused at his audacity.

"It's over, Mr. Mulder.  I would think I'd stop being a concern 
for you."

The waves are stroking closer to me.  Some are carrying white-hot 
anger.  Others are bringing understanding.

"War crimes.  Crimes against humanity."

He licks his flat liver lips.  

"Sir?  And I use that title with complete facetiousness."

"What can you prove?"

"I can prove you killed Scully."  Which way will he feign?

Yellow teeth flash in the dimness.  "I doubt that."

So there's part of the answer.  He thinks he has his ace tucked 
far up his sleeve.

"I think with all of your heinous acts, there must be some 
evidence lying around, somewhere."  I finally allow myself to 
grin.

He grinds out his cigarette and gropes for another.  His words cut 
down into my chest, slide around my heart, and tear it free.  "I 
was just doing my job."

I can see him for what he always was.  A pathetic, boring 
bureaucrat who'd spend fifty years peering at other lives through 
keyholes.  And slaughtered those lives like a butcher.

His eyes plead for understanding and I want to rip them out with 
my bare hands.   "You need to go after my superiors.  I can help 
you."

My tongue is heavy in my mouth and I can barely lift it.  "No 
thanks."

He begins to rattle on.  "No, I can. I've kept notes, very good 
notes."  His face becomes crafty.  "I'll turn them over to you for 
assurances--"

"Will you give me Scully back?"  In this cold room, freezing my 
limbs and my soul, I can almost believe there's another Scully, 
living in the suburbs with our daughter.  I can feel her tense in 
the closet.  

He takes his time to light another death stick.  I push.  "Sir?"

He breathes out, "Yes."

"Where?"

"It'll take me a few days--"

"Now."

He starts to bargain.  "I want papers drawn up.  Giving me 
complete amnesty.  Then you can have Scully back."

I should be patient.  I should work a confession out of him.  I 
can't wait another minute. 

I leap from the chair and feel his crepe-paper neck in my grip.

Wondering if there is breath in his body to squeeze out, I still 
try.

"Mulder!  Mulder!"  She's there again.

"Stop!  If you kill him, you'll never find her!"

I toss him back against the wall and he crumbles like a windblown 
discarded newspaper.

I whirl to lay into her.  She stands straight and true before me.

I search her face for the truth.  She believes so strongly, why 
can't I?

Reaching out, I trace her nose with a fingertip. I know that 
little rise on the bridge, right there.  Her mole.  I brush away 
the concealer and it's revealed.  My thumb strokes her lower lip 
and her mouth opens to gasp.

"Scully.  I'm sorry.  It's you."  Dawn rises cold and blue.  "I 
know you don't want it to be true, but you are Dana Scully.  This 
is your life now.  It may not be what you want, but here it is."

She's confused, but I've finally found the last piece.

"It was so easy for them.  They could see you were lost now that 
our quest is over.  You thought your emptiness meant you weren't 
Scully.  All it means is we need to find a new quest."

She's quick.  She slaps away my hand.  "Doing what?  Sitting 
behind a desk?  Picking up assignments out of the pool?  
Schmoozing the Director for a better secretary?"  

She claps her hand over her mouth in horror as she finally begins 
to understand.  

Still, she shakes her head to toss aside my words.

I should be furious with her.  Instead I murmur, "It's all right.  
He's had nothing to do all our lives but discover every corner of 
our psyche.  He knows our every thought and reaction.  He took 
your memories and left doubts."

She spits through gritted teeth as she concentrates on a spot 
somewhere by my left foot, "I hate the idea of being predictable."

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the snake slither out the 
door.  I turn back to her, very slowly.

I jerk my head in the direction of his retreat.  "There.  There's 
something you can do with your time.  They should pay for 
everything they've done."

She nods slightly, her eyes still downcast.  I can see her brain 
turning all these new ideas over, examining them from all sides. 

"Where shall I go?  What shall I do?" she muses.

I can't help the grin.  "Well, Scarlett, I don't give a damn."

Rhett was a fucking idiot.  I pull her close with what I hope is 
mastery.  "I *do* believe you need to be with me."

She settles her head into the curve of my collarbone.  I try to 
stroke the worry line from between her eyebrows with my fingertip. 

Her whispered words blaze through my shirt to burn my skin.  "I 
have the strength of your belief."

I grope for my suit pocket.  Down at the bottom, next to some 
lint-covered seeds, is my objective.

Pulling out the necklace, I hold it up in the streak of light from 
the hall.  

"Put it on," I command.

She snares the chain on her fingers. 

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she mumbles with that tone of self-
disappointment that always breaks my heart.

With shaking fingers, I help her attach the clasp behind her neck.

"Never say that.  Never.  I needed you to do that for me."

"What?"

"Show me that you could be scared of love too.  Just so long as 
you came back to me after the trip."

"I'm back."  Her face tips up to me and the familiar features are 
in all the right places.  

With a shaky grin, she adds, "I was dead and now I'm back."

I try to never cry in front of her but I can't stop my tears.  

With one hand, she brushes the drops from my cheeks, licking them 
from her fingers absentmindedly.  Her gaze finds mine, and I see 
the joy.  She needed me to be scared too.

The other hand is pulling my face to hers.  Just before her lips 
touch mine, she whispers, "One quick kiss.  Then we need to get to 
work."

That's my Scully.

XX~XX


The End/ Idylls (4/4)

*All quotes from the works of Tennyson


End Notes: This is a bit of an experiment in style for me.  I had 
this story idea that I loved but I could only see it as a long, 
complex novel.  Already in the middle of one of those, I didn't 
want to start another.  Then Rachel Howard posted 'Show'.  Besides 
trumpeting the amazing technique in that story to anyone who would 
sit still, I was intrigued by the possibility of attempting it 
with this story idea.  Please let me know if it worked for you.

Feedback: bugs1231@my-deja.com