From: "Karen Graves": scullymulder1121@hotmail.com
To: xff-atxc@chaos.taylored.com
Subject: Full of Grace 2/5
Date: Sun, 23 Aug 1998 00:18:08 PDT



~~~~

And, Oh, Darkness I feel like letting go
If all of the strength and all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place
I know I can love you much better than this
Full of grace, Full of grace, My Love

~~~~

I'm cold.

I hadn't realized it, half sitting half lying next to Mulder as I was, but I'm freezing.

I get that way lately. Ever since being in that God damn Pod I occasionally break into uncontrollable shaking fits and I swear I'm on the ice again, holding Mulder's limp body against me. My eyes shut as I'm in the process of laying out our food on the table. How many times have I almost lost him? How many times have I watched him come back from the brink of death, only to slip back into our comfortable little routine?

I am his partner. I am his best friend. I am his shoulder to cry on, his punching bag when he needs one, his sounding board, his most loyal and trusted advisor. I am. . . .

His, I realize. I chuckle internally at myself. This seems to be a night for realizations.

I feel him move. He is behind me now. A gentle hand lands on my shoulder, casually trailing down my arm, knuckles brushing against my hip as it returns to its side. "Smells great," he murmurs, breath fanning the back of my neck.

Over the still slightly red mark from where the bee stung me.

I hate bees. Never did before that incident. But I do now. Passionately.

Fox Mulder was finally going to kiss me. After six years of wanting, hoping and praying he was going to kiss me, he was about to. And then..... *buzzbuzzbuzz* My lips twitch uncontrollably as I actually make that sound in my own head. I sigh. I have lost my mind along with Mulder's.

It doesn't cheer me that my next immediate thought is to hope that wherever they are, they're together.

I wonder if he realizes all he has to do is touch me. Just one touch, and I'd fall into him. I'd sink into him so deeply neither of us will ever be able to find our way out again. And I won't care. In fact, I'd embrace it. I'd revel in it. I'd delight in it, this my most treasured of wishes.

Rationalism and science have their place. But not when it comes to my heart. They have no place there. My heart is allowed to be whimsical and free, to dare to dream and hope and revel in the wonders of being alive.

I am stunned to realize I can't remember the last time I reveled in being alive. Not since that night in my hospital room. The night I learned the cancer was gone. I told Mulder first, because he was the one who needed to hear it the most. The one I needed to tell the most.

Nearly all of our most meaningful exchanges seem to take place in hospitals, Mulder's and mine. It's just as well. If the hospitals hadn't won, the cemetery's would have, and I'd just as soon have every hospital from here to Chainey be considered 'our place' then every cemetery.

We sit in silence, taking a few bites of our food. We look up at each other, smile, and begin switching plates, taking bites of the others food, enjoying it more then our own. I grin at him, then realize I don't do that enough.

Mental note: Smile at Mulder more. Not just little 'I'm fine' smiles. Give him the 'Mulder you've just come out of a four day coma I thought you were dead I'm going to live' smiles.

"How did you know I'd be in the mood for sweet and sour chicken?" he asks, around a mouthful of my usually favorite meal. That is until I developed the craving for beef and broccoli.

"I just knew," I answer softly, my voice filled with something un-definable by my own internal thesaurus. I watch him search his own, trying to find a word or phrase that adequately describes what we are to each other, what we feel for each other. He is as unsuccessful as I am.

"Scully," he whispers, hoarsely, looking me in the eye.

I smile. "What Mulder?" I ask in the gentlest tone I have.

Sorry Mulder. No free rides. I need to hear it. Whatever 'it' is. We need to resolve it. It's been six days since we got back from Antarctica. Damned infuriating man. . . . .

"Would you like to dance, Scully?" he asks softly, standing and offering me his hand.

Again, I remember. I remember sitting at the front table of a tiny, dark smoke filled room. Cher was serenading the sweetest Mutant alive and you offered me your hand Mulder. I took it and we danced for hours. I don't want to dance for hours this time Mulder. Minutes would be too long. I try to tell him this with my eyes, hoping he understands.

"There's no music," I point out logically, allowing him to lead me to the center of my living room, swaying to a slow, romantic beat all his own. All our own. We don't need music. I know it. He knows I know it.

"Yes there is," he whispers, eyes twinkling like they haven't since the first time he asked me if I believed in the existence of extra terrestrials. "You just have to know how to listen Scully," he whispers, leaning his head beside mine, his jaw brushing my cheek.

My eyes drift shut and I place both my hands around his shoulders, settling them along his back as we sway to the music. Our breathing evens and our hearts beat at the same time. And I can hear the music that doesn't exist.

I can feel myself falling into him.

He moves his cheek against mine before slowly pulling his head away, looking into my eyes. Communicating with me in the only way he knows how. I move my hand to his neck and his follows suit, his fingers slipping beneath my turtle neck to gently rub over the spot I was stung. My lips turn up slightly, I raise an eyebrow and give him a 'what are you doing Mulder?' look.

"Checking for bees," he mumbles, the pad of his thumb running along the base of my neck softly, feather light.

I smile, leaning my face a fraction of an inch closer to his. "Find anything?" I whisper, leaning in just a little closer.

He smiles slightly in return, his other hand resting against my lower back, just over my tattoo. I wonder briefly if he knows he's doing that, or if he just happened to place his hand there.

"Nope, far as I can tell, you're all clear Agent Scully," he murmurs playfully. His hand tightens on the back of my neck for a second, then relaxes, his face sobering. "And anything that tries to hurt you is gonna have to go through me."

My smile becomes watery, but I refuse to cry. No tears. No despair. Not here, not now, not for this.

"Tell me Agent Mulder," I murmurs in the most professional voice I can manage at the moment, "how long exactly have you been hearing this music no one else can hear?"

"About six years," he answers, without hesitation. "And, Dr. Scully, I know you hear it too. You just have to open your mind to the possibilities."
"My mind is perfectly open," I counter, running my hands down his back, moving one of my arms so it's wrapped around his waist, the other staying at his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. "In relation to anything you could possibly throw at me," I add for good measure.

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth and I want to replace his teeth with my own. Have wanted to for years every damn time he does that. Instead I wait for him to speak. "Anything?" he finally asks.

"Anything," I confirm, my eyes never wavering from his.

"Up to and including our experience in Antarctica?" he asks, referring to the. . . . . spaceship.

"Mulder I admit I was. . . . hazy," I begin.

He sighs. "I know Scully," he murmurs, smiling at me. "You'll never see it you know. What I see. No one will. It'd mean the end of the world or something if you saw what I see." There is no anger in his voice, only a kind of gentle acceptance. Almost reverence.

"I may not have seen what you saw," I say softly, keeping my eyes on his, "but I believe that you saw it." I smile slightly. "I don't know how to reconcile my beliefs sometimes Mulder. I believe in you, yet everything you believe in directly opposes my own belief system." I sigh once more, shaking my head, bemused. "It's a paradox. One I'm perfectly happy living with," I point out adamantly. "But a paradox nonetheless."

A look of absolute certainty crosses his face. "You'll see one day Scully," he murmurs, his fingers once again brushing over the skin of my neck, trailing little electrical charges everywhere they go. "You'll see whatever you're meant to. Whatever this crazy cosmos means for you to see, you'll see. And if you're never meant to see what I see. . . . then you can go on seeing the things I don't, and that way we'll never miss anything."

I laugh a little, because that statement was so convoluted with Mulder-logic I have no other option but to laugh. "Mulder," I murmur, still chuckling lightly.

"What's so funny?" he asks, taking on that mock-up of his usual whipped puppy look.

The laughter leaves me as quickly as it arrived and I merely smile again, once again feeling tears prickle the backs of my eyes. "Nothing Mulder," I murmur gently, leaning closer to him, tightening my hand on his neck again. "Absolutely nothing," I whisper against his mouth a second before I apply pressure, kissing him, our first kiss, then becoming absolutely lost in him when he kisses me back.

I'm falling Mulder.

Catch me.

~~~~

End 2/5



~~~~

It's better this way
I said
having seen this place before
Where everything we say and do
Hurts us all the more

~~~~

Scully is kissing me. I'm kissing her. We're kissing each other.

I can die now.

My hands don't move, merely tightening to bring her body in closer contact with mine, pulling her against me as tightly as possibly without hurting her. She doesn't seem to mind, simply tightening her own arms around me, pulling me into her as far as she can. Her mouth is heaven. Kissing Scully is one of those things I've found myself obsessed with, fantasizing about, dreaming of for so long that the reality is almost staggering.

There's a lightness surrounding my heart, a ringing in my ears. This is what it means to be truly buzzed. My hands move up and down her back, all pretense of dancing having deserted us. I brush my lips along her jaw, then back to her mouth, finding I can't quite get enough of her. Just as my hands drift under her sweater, my fingertips brushing against bare skin, I realize that it's not ringing in my ears.

It's a telephone ringing.

Two of them.

Both our cell phones, at the same time.

We pull away, resting our foreheads against each others, breathing hard, uneven breaths, gasping for every bit of air. Her arms don't move from around me, nor mine from around her. After a few precious seconds, we slowly disengage, not speaking, finding our respective phones and answering with a frustrated stab of our fingers.

"Mulder," I say sharply a second before I hear 'Scully' in much the same tone of voice. I smile slightly before I hear the voice on the other end.

"Agent Mulder, this is SAC Daniel Kersh. I need you and Agent Scully down here, now. It's a matter of great urgency."

"Down where Sir?" I ask slowly, looking toward Scully and finding her eyebrows furrowed as well.

"What is this concerning Sir?" she asks whoever's on her phone.

"Charlie's Coffee Shop," Kersh informs me. "There's been. . . an interesting turn of events I need your expertise on. I've had AD Skinner trying to reach Agent Scully. You wouldn't happen to know if he was successful, would you Agent Mulder?" Something about the man's tone puts me off. I glance up at Scully again.

"Yes Sir," she says into the phone, her face having slipped into that mask of professionalism, even though no one can see her but me. "We'll be there within the hour." She disconnects, tossing her phone to a chair and flopping down on the couch, looking exhausted.

"You'd have to ask Agent Scully," I reply in the phone tersely. "We'll arrive within the hour," I say, deciding to steal Scully's words because they're usually better then my own when dealing with superiors. I disconnect, not giving Kersh a chance to answer, then take my place beside Scully on the couch. "Charlie's?"

She nods, sighing again. "Yea. Explain to me Mulder, why it is we are not allowed to have one uninterrupted nice evening with one another?" she asks in a monotone voice, staring dully at the wall.

I sigh. "Because we have become something more then who we are," I say softly, knowing she'll understand, knowing she's the only person on this earth who ever could.

Smiling slightly, Scully turns to look at me. She sighs, almost wistfully, brushing a lock of hair back from my forehead. "Come on Mulder," she murmurs. "We get to go play in the bloody snow."

I smile thinly. "Really Scully? Can we? Can I be the one they elect to crawl through the snow looking for evidence this time?"

"If you're good," she tells me, dead pan, already heading toward the closet to pull on her heavy trench coat. She tosses me the one I keep there for good measure and I don it.

"Shouldn't have to go outside in DC at night during winter," I mutter, slipping my coat on and grabbing both our cell phones. I check the weapon that no matter where I'm going is always somewhere with me - this time in the jacket I had discarded earlier. I place it in the waist band at the back of my jeans, watching Scully as she does the same with her own weapon.

She nods once at me. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I mumble, holding the door open for her, then following her out into the bitter cold.

~~~~

Charlie's All Night Diner
1:21 AM

I hadn't been kidding when I said bloody snow.

It appears as though gallons of red paint have been dumped on the ground. It couldn't be blood. If it was blood that would mean the loss of life. . . .

But even as I run the statistics through my mind, even as my humanity violently rebels against the notion, my head, my mind confirms it. It is blood splattering the snowy ground. Red on white, for nearly a square block around Charlie's Diner. I detach myself from the task at hand, instead choosing to focus my mind on other things as I take samples, search my 'area' for any form of evidence.

They're hoping to find bodies.

I know that there are none to be found. If there were, someone would've found them by now.

I watch Mulder searching his 'area' alongside Kersh. I know he would've rather been by me, but Kersh seemed insistent that they work together. I think the man has a grudging respect for Mulder, like so many others in the Bureau would if they'd simply open their minds a little. Shutting off the voices I hear laughing at me for that statement, I focus instead on Mulder.

I'm not allowed to get all schoolgirl. I'm not allowed to leap from the rooftops, screaming to anyone who'll listen that he kissed me, that that dreamy boy kissed me and I feel as though I can fly. Truthfully, it didn't feel quite like that. It wasn't being kissed by a dreamy guy, or a guy I was attracted to, or a guy I even loved.

It was simply being kissed by Mulder. It's the only description I can give him, this man I do love with all my heart. Mulder. Being kissed by Mulder wasn't surprising, or something that felt new and different. It didn't feel new. It felt like something I'd been doing my entire life. It felt inevitable, rather then different. As though we were fulfilling a destiny the moment our lips met.

Again, I shake my head at myself. God, fulfilling a destiny. What kind of adolescent trip am I on? Maybe something that happened in Antarctica did effect my mind.

I'll have to remember to make a trip to see my Doctor real soon.

~~~~

"Sir," a nervous young man begins.

An old man turns, looking him up and down. "What?" he asks in his thick German accent.

"It will be done tonight," the man answers, visibly attempting not to shuffle from foot to foot.

"Good." The German pauses, considering his next words. "Are the others aware?"

"Only the one," he answers quickly, eyes still darting back and forth. "The rest. . . . the rest are making preparation the best they know how."

The German nods slowly, eyes sad. "They are preparing for themselves," he murmurs slowly, "and once more leaving me the despicable work which no one else wishes to do, but still must be done." His eyes close and he leans his head back against a chair.

"Sir. . .?" he beings nervously.

"Leave me," he says softly, authoritatively.

"Of course Sir." Footsteps. A door shutting.

The man's eyes open, scanning the dark room he inhabits slowly. "It is done," he says softly, to no one in particular.

~~~~

"Hey Mulder, take a look at this," Scully mumbles, not looking up from the ground. She gently probes a patch of red snow with a latex covered finger, extracting a small medal object.

"Whatcha got Scully?" Mulder asks, stooping down beside her.

"I'm not sure," she begins, her voice distracted as she examines the medal closer.

Mulder pulls on the pocket of her coat, removing a pair of gloves for himself and quickly donning them. He begins digging in the patch of snow she found the medal buried in. "Hey Scully," he mutters, down on his knees now, digging deeper.

Scully glances at him for the first time, taking her eyes off the medal. She raises an eyebrow at the picture he makes. "Yea Mulder?"

"Next time we feel the urge to play in the snow," he begins, screwing up his face as he locates something that looks a little too much like a human finger, "what do you say we go to Aspen? Or Vermont. I hear Vermont is lovely."

"You got yourself a date, G-Man," Scully mutters, turning the piece of medal around in her hands. She runs her index finger under it. "Mulder. . . ."

When she doesn't continue, Mulder pokes his head out of the snow. "Scully?"

She blinks. "Sorry. It's just. . ." Her face screws up with concentration. "Mulder it's like. . . I know what this is, I just can't remember it." Her eyes flash to Mulder's quickly before returning their transfixed gaze to the medal object.

"Remember it from when?" Mulder asks slowly, carefully. "From your abduction? Or in shi—pod," he corrects himself, not wanting to get into a discussion concerning whether it was or was not a spaceship she had been held on.

"I don't know," Scully answers, her voice frustrated and confused. Frustrated that she didn't remember something she *knew* was important. Confused because. . . . she really had absolutely no idea *why* it was important, or even when she'd learned it was important.

"It's okay Scully," Mulder murmurs, placing a hand on her back in a comforting gesture. "We'll figure it out. Whatever it is."

Sending him a grateful smile, Scully turns her head away, narrowing her eyes. "Mulder," she begins warily. "What is SAC Kersh doing over there?"

Mulder's brows furrow together as he zooms in on Kersh. "He appears to be talking with those people in the van. Must be trying to get onto the crime scene."

Scully's eyes narrow as she slowly walks forward, the piece of medal still clutched in her right hand. "No Mulder," she murmurs. "I know that man. . . ." Before Scully can get another word out, the van guns its engines.

Mulder hears it before he sees it.

The man in the passengers seat of the van takes out a gun, points at Scully and fires, twice. The first shot hits her in the chest, the second in the shoulder. The force of the bullets knocks her down, a small unintelligible grunt leaving her mouth. She feels her head hit the cold ground, then nothing as her body begins to go numb. Mulder is above her in an instant.

"Scully!" he screams, kneeling by her side. His fingers, taking her pulse, his voice, soothing, breathe Scully, hang on, ambulance is on its way, don't worry, you're gonna be fine, everything's going to be fine.

"Agent Mulder. . . ?" Kersh begins, standing, like everyone else, around her body.

"Somebody get a fucking ambulance!" Mulder screams, immediately going back to his calm soothing voice while talking to Scully. He rips her shirt off, followed by his coat, using both to apply pressure to her wounds.

By the time the ambulance arrives, Dana Scully is as close to death as she's been in nearly seven days now.

~~~~

End 3/5

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