Date: Sun, 28 Sep 1997 18:50:18 -0400 (EDT) From: Matturnerx@aol.com Subject: REQUIEM FOR THE LIVING (Part One)- From a new author TITLE: Requiem For the Living AUTHOR: Mary A. Turner E-MAIL: matturnerx@aol.com RATING: R CLASSIFICATION: SRA SUMMARY: Comfort and rejection, all rolled into one. DICLAIMER: These characters are not mine, just merely doing a little borrowing from Chris Carter. ****************************************************************************** ******************************************* Requiem For the Living (Part One) Mary A. Turner The age-old adage was true: bad things do happen to good people. Sometimes, they were more than bad...they were terrible, horrendous, appalling, throwing even the most devote believer into a tailspin. Why these terrible things happen, only God could explain and, usually, God did not find it necessary to interpret His workings to mere mortal man. No. Mortal man, or woman, could only wonder or cry or shout to the heavens above about the unjustness of events they certainly had no control over. It was times like these that were suppose to make one stronger, to help one recognize a higher purpose to life, or to make one treasure the time allotted in life and, therefore, live more fully in the moment. For many believers, it did bring them closer to their families, made them concentrate more on the here and now, or taught them to fashion their fragile lives into something more meaningful. To others, these trying times were nothing more than grim affirmations to the non-existence of a supreme deity. For, surely, no all-knowing, all-loving, all-powerful god would allow innocents to be slaughtered, would allow virtuous people to suffer needlessly, would allow terrible tragedies to occur every single day of life. Surely not. Sometimes, though, there were those individuals seemingly caught right in the middle: they truly believed in their God and worshipped Him religiously but they, at times, had to pause because the doubt they carried was too strong to ignore. It was actually harder for these people. Pulled in both directions at once, they found no comfort in prayer or meditation nor could they, outright, turn away from the teachings of their youth. It was a dilemma that often made their lives a living hell on earth. Looking at the faces of those gathered around the burial plots directly brfore her, Dana Scully felt the confusion accutely as her belief and disbelief battled silently within her small frame. It was a war she never thought she'd have to face. To her left, her mother sat straight in the hard, wooden, folding-chair provided by the funeral home, her tiny body again clothed in the dark, somber fabrics of mourning. Margaret Scully was a woman of undeniable strength, her moderately-lined face masked in a composure more terrible to look at than the open grief displayed by others clustered around. She clutched a white hander- chief in one hand, her fingers gripping the linen material as if it was her only means of holding on to reality. Her eyes never strayed far from the two caskets resting on the grass a few feet away. Dana marvelled at her mother's inner strength: so small, so forceful, so beautiful...even in her sorrow. At Dana's right sat what was left of her brother's family. The two girls seemed almost numb with shock, their young faces pale with disbelief, each of them lost in some private world. The oldest, Megan, was holding her sister's hand, their intertwined fingers looking tiny and thin. Barely fifteen, Megan knew what her parents' deaths meant to her life. She'd taken the news horribly, as those totally obsessed with their own existence do, grieving for her mother and father but, also, for herself. She was old enough to know that nothing would ever be the same for her again. In the span of a heartbeat, a drunk driver had ripped the family apart and thrown the teenager into a well of despair. Now, she was no more than a feather tossed in the wind, going where bidden with no recourse open to her. There was just no way to console someone this unconsolable right now. At eight years old, Shannon Scully looked more like her father than anyone. Having inherited the trademark Scully hair, it now trailed down her back in a huge, fat braid, the color reminding Dana of autumn leaves and sunsets. Shannon's eyes were downcast, her small body looking frail and shrunken in the uncomfortable chair. Her world, too, was gone but, unlike Megan, she only thought of the mother and father she would never see again. Large tears coursed silently down her cheeks, leaving the skin wet and shiny in their wake. She wiped absently at her reddened nose with a tissue someone had pressed into her hand at the church, sniffing as her grief began to swell anew. She wanted to be held, she wanted to bawl her eyes out but, most of all, she wanted her parents to be alive again. Dana let her eyes drift away from the children and toward the twin caskets, their smooth surfaces adorned with duplicate wreaths of mums and roses, and thought of the two people closed away within. Her oldest brother, Bill Jr., had been married to Janet for a little over fifteen years, their union unmarred by infidelities or seperations so common nowadays. They'd seemed genuinely happy with each other and their middle-class life. When the girls had been born, Bill hed loved them unconditionally, never once suggesting he would have been better pleased if one had been a boy. That they had both been born healthy had been enough. 'His girls', he'd called them lovingly. He had loved his girls and they, in turn, had loved him. Dana looked at her nieces as they sat huddled together on their chairs. *Who'll love them like that now?* A soft, warm breeze lifted her hair away from her face and she tilted her chin in its direction, smelling the fragrance of the flowers mingling in the air. Bitter tears stung her eyes and she let her lids close, blocking out the sights of this too bright, too sunny day. *It should be raining,* she thought idly. And, if she concentrated hard enough, she could almost feel the moisture on her face, dotting the skin with tiny, wet kisses, surrendering to her wishes. Bringing a hand up to touch a cheek, she felt the rain on her face and, immediately, recognized it for what it really was: tears. Hot, bitter tears. She reopened her eyes and gazed across the caskets holding the remains of her brother and his dear wife, seeing the mourners beginning to dispurse. Was the funeral over so soon? She turned toward her mother and saw the priest bending low, taking her hand and offering his prayers and condolences along with his spiritual support. Margaret Scully accepted the clergy's gentle words graciously and then rose to her feet, immediately stepping past Dana to gather the girls, touching them both briefly on their shoulders and urging them to stand. Dana watched them rise, their tears beginning again as they finally understood that they were leaving the cemetery and their parents. Shannon began to cry hard and loud and Dana's other brother, Charles, scooped her up into his embrace, carrying her the rest of the way to the car. Both girls were so young, so tender, so vulnerable. How could God allow a tragedy like this occur? How? A hand on her shoulder made her look up. Mulder was there, looking down at her with his heart in his eyes. His hand gently moved from her shoulder to briefly touch her cheek, the backs of his fingers brushing away her unnoticed tears. "Come on," he spoke quietly, his hand going back to reach for her elbow. "It's time to go." Bill and Janet's neighbors had filled the kitchen with food, the countertops and tables covered with a wide assortment of just about everything from soups to desserts. The living room was full, too, of people coming and going, softly extending their sympathy to the relatives, staying just long enough to be noticed but not too long to become annoying. Dana greeted as many as she could but soon found it necessary to escape the well-meaning questions and comments. She wandered through her brother's home, touching his possessions with a strange detactment, seeing his life displayed through family photographs, small nic-nacs and souvenirs, and a wide assortment of furniture. Janet had loved antiques and had filled the home with her treasures. Bill, too, had caught his wife's fever and, when home on leave, together they scoured flea markets, yard sales, and auctions. Dana smiled at the thought of her big brother handling a delicate antique in his large, rough hands, his fingers certainly able to crush just as easy as caress. Those hands were forever still now. She continued to explore, finding her way upstairs, and stopping to glance for just a moment at the master bedroom, strangely not wanting to invade the intimate area Bill and Janet had shared. She would, eventually, have to help in the sorting and packing of their personal items but she just couldn't go in there now. It was too soon. She stepped to the next door in the hallway, pressing her forhead against the panel when she heard the soft, muffled sobs coming from within. This was Megan's room: filled with posters and brightly colored wallpaper, the bed awash in ruffles and lace, and a closet overflowing with clothes and shoes. Now, it was also filled with misery. Dana debated with her thoughts and decided not to intrude on the girl's privacy. This was the first time today Megan had broken down and she needed the purging. When the teenager was ready to face others, she would come out of her bedroom. Dana pushed away from Megan's door and moved on, letting her feet carry her to the next room. She was surprised to see the door open and the room empty. Shannon hadn't been downstairs since after arriving home from the cemetery but, with so many people going in and out of the house, she could have easily missed seeing the child among them. Stepping across the threshold and into the room, she was immediately confronted by the striking differences between the two girls'tastes. No ruffles or lace here. Nor any flowery wallpaper or posters advertising the hunk-of- the-month. Shannon's decor reflected girlish simplicity and intellect. Not that Megan was stupid. Both girls were bright, easy to get along with, and even tempered. But Shannon was the curious of the two, wanting to learn all she could, with an aptitude for the mechanical. Where Megan had the fancy CD player, Shannon had a computer to keep her company. Dana approached the computer on the desk by the window and looked at the machine, her lips curving into a gentle smile. A frame decorated the monitor's screen, the colorful, graffiti-patterned splashes in direct contrast to the clean, lean lines of the device itself. A movement outside caught her attention and her eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. There, on the swing set Bill ahd put in the far corner of the backyard years ago, was Shannon. In the swing beside her, Mulder sat, unmoving and listening intently, his face angled toward the little girl as she spoke earnestly to him, her small hand wiping fresh tears from her cheeks. She watched as Mulder said something and gently touched the girl's shoulder, trying, in his own way, to ease her grief. Struck by an overwhelming emotion, Dana watched the tender scene a moment longer before turning away, knowing Shannon was in good hands. She forced herself to go back downstairs, to help her mother with all the well-meaning visitors, and tried not to think about her feelings on this day. Thinking was just too tiring now. It was very dark and close to eight-thirty when the back door suddenly opened and Mulder came in carrying a sleeping Shannon in his arms. Both Dana and Margaret looked up, startled, from where they sat at the kitchen table, surprised and very embarrassed when they realized the little girl and her protector had still been outside all this time. Dana rose and went to her friend, offering to take her niece. He shook his head slightly, his eyes holding hers for a moment. Shannon stirred and snuggled closer, her small, thin arms tightening as she pressed her cheek against Mulder's neck, the unconscious gesture relaying her trust in the man carrying her. Dana nodded and turned to lead him upstairs but, before they could move, Margaret stopped them both and stood in front of Mulder, her cool hand on the arm he had wrapped across Shannon's back. "Thank you, Fox," she said softly, her eyes full of gratitude. He pressed his lips together and shook his head at her acknowledgement. He tightened his arm on the child as he silently regarded the woman. "She just needed to talk, that's all. I didn't do anything but listen to her." Margaret nodded her understanding but her eyes looked into his soul. He blushed slightly at her frank appraisal, uncomfortable because she seemed able to see past his carefully-controlled veneer of detachment. It suited him just fine to pretend he didn't need others or that he was perfectly happy on his own. He'd learned, years ago, that it was easier not to let others get too close...it only hurt worse when they left. Better to just be considered strange and unfeeling. But being with this child and the rest of the Scully family during this terrible time had brought another feeling that haunted him even more: lonliness. All the years of carefully honing his act, of pushing others away with snide comments or rudeness, was now back to haunt him. Holding Shannon in his arms, he realized he hated what he'd let himself become and he hated what he could see as his future. He looked squarely at Mrs. Scully and tried to mask his true feelings, waiting patiently until she nodded and stepped aside. Dana began the trek up, her steps slow and measured. She was so very tired. The day had been too long and too trying, even for the most hardened person. Too many strange faces, too much to think think about, too many emotions layed bare. As the house had emptied and the rooms grew quiet, she and her mother had escaped to the kitchen to rest and, more importantly, talk about the future of Bill and Janet's girls. They knew a family member was expected to take them; the will had specifically requested the girls be kept together and raised by someone close. Janet's family consisted of elderly parents and an unmarried brother who lived in Ireland...the girls wouldn't find homes with them. They both knew Dana couldn't do it at this point in her life and career and Charles...well, Charles was right in the middle of a very messy divorce and couldn't take on the responsibility either. Somewhere during the conversation, Margaret Scully had looked calmly at her daughter and announced that she would bring the girls back to her home when everything was settled here. Dana, again, was struck by the mettle of this dear woman and wondered if she could ever be half as strong. Now, as she led Mulder to Shannon's bed, she wondered if she even had the strength to prepare her niece for sleep. Mulder waited for a moment by the twin bed, seeing the lost look appear in his friend's eyes, and knew she was emotionally and physically drained. Hell, he felt like he could lay down and sleep right now, too. He gently brushed her aside and bent to pull the covers back, careful not to disturb his precious bundle. Once between the sheets, Shannon stirred, twisted to her side, and was asleep again with a soft sigh. He slipped off her shoes, looked at her clothing, and decided the child could sleep perfectly fine in her dress. There was no sense in waking her just to change; that would risk the chances of the tears starting again. He tugged the sheet up and let his hand rest a moment in her hair, remembering the instant she had stopped talking, had stopped asking questions, and had turned from her place in the swing and jumped into his arms, her small, fragile form shaking with unrestrained anguish. Her tears had soaked the neck of his dress shirt and he'd been surprised that a body that tiny could produce so much liquid. Now, as she rested peacefully in her bed, in the room she'd grown up in, the past hours seemed more like a strange dream. No, not a dream. A nightmare. He stood, then, and took Dana's arm, guiding her quietly away from the sleeping child. As his hand reached for the knob, Dana's finger's covered his on the smooth metal handle. He looked at her, a silent question furrowing his brow, feeling her hand shake slightly on his. He turned his wrist so he could gather her hand within his, squeezing gently, trying to ease her sorrow through the simple contact. She lifted her face, her eyes awash with unshed tears. "Am I going to have to tuck you in tonight, too?" He whispered, trying a bit of humor, seeing if he could wring a smile from her. He was rewarded with a very small one. "Yes, please," she responded hollowly, letting him continue holding her hand within his warm grasp. She needed comforting, too, but knew she had no right to ask it of him. She squeezed his hand in return, to show she was going to be fine, and started to move away. This time, he stopped her. Mulder drew her into the security of his embrace, holding her soothingly, not letting her pull away when she half-heartedly resisted. She struggled weakly for only another moment and, then, all the fight went out and she collapsed against him. Finding she suddenly had no more strength, Scully was immediately clutching at his shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric as she buried her face against his chest. The tears came then, hot and wet, and, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop. "Oh, Scully..." Mulder whispered against her hair. He bent and lifted her easily into his arms, holding his grieving friend just as he had held her niece minutes before. He took them out of Shannon's room and back down the stairs, stopping only long enough to tell Margaret not to worry and that they'd be outside by the swingset, where it was dark and quiet. Margaret touched Dana's hair lightly and nodded, knowing her daughter needed the time to vent her grief in her own way. She looked again into Mulder's eyes and saw his concern and his caring and something a bit more. There was real affection there: a deep, faithful feeling that she knew contained of love but was, as of yet, unrecognized. Dropping his gaze, he turned away. As she watched Mulder carry Dana out into the darkness, Margaret Scully prayed that the terrible grief of the day would be replaced by a joyful discovery tonight. Concluded in Part Two--------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------ Mulder stepped out into the warm night air and moved toward the swingset, the weight of his partner in his arms almost no weight at all. He gazed for a moment at the swings and frowned, knowing they'd never be comfortable on the hard, metal seats. His rear was still half-numb from the hours spent there with Shannon and he had no desire to return. He turned slightly as he travelled the length of the yard, and found a suitable spot to one side, under a huge tree, and sat down, cradling Dana in his arms and letting her rest on his lap. Her sobs had settled somewhat and he used his hands to rub the tension gently from her back and shoulders, urging her to let the day go, to let him take all her weight, both emotional and physical. She slowly relaxed against him, her arms looped loosely about his shoulders and her cheek resting in the hollow of his neck. She sighed deeply, releasing more of her sorrow through the expelled breath. A calm, warm lassitude enveloped her body as she began to give up her remaining control and let the drowiness take over. She was floating away from the day, away from the grief, away from her hold on reality. And, as she floated in this pleasant, dreamy state, she knew she wasn't alone: Mulder was there with her, protecting and comfort- ing through his very presence. She roused partially some time later, still curled in Mulder's protective embrace but, now, they were both laying on the grass, their bodies huddled close for warmth. She didn't want to wake fully, enjoying the closeness and the pleasant lull of his deep, steady breathing. She snuggled a bit closer and sighed against his shirt, bringing a hand up to curl contentedly under her chin. Her movement, as small as it was, must have disturbed his sleep, because she thought she felt his arms tighten fractionally around her back and waist, a low reassuring sound murmuring in the area where his mouth rested against her forehead. Even in sleep, he tried to protect her, wanting her to rest and recover. Dana rubbed her cheek against the fabric of his shirt and inhaled his scent, her senses filling with the sheer maleness he exuded, even in slumber: solid, strong, protective. Her lips curled into a small smile and she snuggled closer, wanting to experience this maleness. And, in her state of half-sleep, Dana didn't realize fully what she was doing. At Scully's first waking movement, Mulder had snapped out of his own slumber and focused on his friend and her needs. He felt her nestle closer and heard her soft sigh and thought she would slip right back into sleep but, when the hand she had tucked up under her chin slowly began to stray down his chest and stomach, he began to get worried...and a little turned on. His conscience screamed, condemning his natural male reactions, and scolded him for not recognizing her basic need for simple human contact after her recent loss. He spoke softly, trying to sooth her, and was relieved when she stilled her questing hand and seemed to fall back into sleep. Mulder lay next to his friend, his partner, and watched the branches of the tree above them sway gently in the night's soft breeze, trying to get a hold on his emotions. He spent several long moments memorizing the feel of her in his arms and imprinting the genuine, simple pleasure of being this close to her in his mind. That she trusted him, above all others, to take care of her in this time of need, astounded him to no end. That she also trusted him to take care of her body, when someone else could have easily taken advantage of the situation and her emotionally fragile emotions, made him want to cry. There was, and would never be, another Dana Scully. She shifted again suddenly, taking him by surprise, and whimpered softly against his shirt, her small hand twisting the fabric slightly as some unseen nightmare intruded into her slumber. Mulder soothed her with his hand on her back and whispered something he thought would settle her thoughts. Her head rose fractionally, as if she was trying to get closer to the gentle words, and her lips were unexpectedly against his neck, her warm breath tickling his skin. He moaned at the sensation and tried to angle his own head to displace her mouth. He only succeeded to make the situation worse when she pressed herself flat against his length and arched her hips against his groin. Jesus. He froze, hoping beyond hope that she would resettle before his natural reaction would awaken her. He could just imagine the acidic remarks she would direct toward him if she found him aroused by mere cuddling. But this was so much more than simple cuddling to Mulder. This was complete trust and understanding and acceptance. Scully didn't settle. Nor did she wake. Instead, she shifted again and brought a leg up to rest against Mulder's hip, her once-straying hand beginning to travel south. Her mouth opened and he could feel her teeth and tongue at his jugular. Shit. This was not good...it was too good. If she didn't stop soon, he was going to have to either wake her up or push her away and, right now, he really didn't want to do anything but lay here and see what she'd do next. He didn't have to wait long. Her hand found him and rubbed softly and awkwardly against the flesh behind the zipper. He moaned again into her hair and tried to fight the rush of pleasure. She answered his sound with a soft croon of her own and rolled her hips. Mulder bit his lip and found himself arching back, wanting to keep the contact between their bodies. Scully responded by rubbing his swelling erection with a bit more pressure, her tongue slicking out to moisten and taste the skin at his pulsepoint. He was going to lose control very soon if he didn't get a handle on this. Mulder reached gently but firmly between their close bodies and deflected her questing hand, pulling it easily out of the way and to one side. Scully unconsciously twisted her wrist and threaded her fingers through his, seemingly needing the constant contact. Mulder relaxed a bit as she eased sightly away from his arousal but gasped with shock when he suddenly found his hand drawn down by hers to the juncture of her thighs. She arched against his hand, her pelvis making small thrusting moves. Mulder's mind went blank and any chivalrous thoughts he might have housed were suddenly gone. Her mouth fastened on his neck and she began to bite, pulling the sensitive skin with her teeth. Mulder used his body weight to slowly ease her over and gently removed her mouth from his flesh, feeling a pounding begin in his skull and groin. She whimpered at the loss but seemed soothed when his hand remained between her legs, his strong fingers automatically pressing against the warmth he could feel through the fabric of her dark slacks. He let his forehead drop to rest on her shoulder as she continued push her pelvis against his hand, wanting to touch her there and damning himself for being so weak. If she woke now, she would surely shoot him...and he would have to let her without even raising a finger to defend himself. God, he was such a spineless coward! But, hell, she felt so good and was obviously aroused and he was never going to have this chance again... NO! He forced his hand away and pulled her into a tight embrace, trying to ignore her whimpers of protest and to calm his enflamed senses. He gently rocked her, petting her back, rubbing her shoulders, murmuring nonsense until he could feel her settling down. She was leaving the erotic part of her dream now and was moving on to something a bit more restful, her body calming under his gentle handling. Mulder angled his head so he could gaze back up into the branches, his own breaths resuming a more normal cadence, and watched the leaves move in the breeze. Here, laying with the one person that meant the most to him in the entire world, he knew he could never risk fate and try for more in their rlationship. But, God help him, he did... Untangling his arms, he finally was able to sit up and look down into her lovely face. Even in the semi-darkness, the soft moonlight filtering through the leaves was enough to illuminate her beauty. In sleep, all of the day's grief was far away, all saddness gone from her youthful features. It was better this way...he had made the right choice. They could still be friends, as they'd been for years now, and not have to worry about the repercussions of handling a romance. He reached to gently smooth her hair away from her cheek and remembered clearly the feel of that cheek pressed to his chest and neck. He jerked his hand back and forced his eyes away, cursing his weakness. Getting to his knees, he scooped her from the grass and lifted her back into his arms. She instinctively curled toward his warmth and settled comfortably, still trusting him unconditionally, just as Shannon had earlier. He stood, holding her close, and allowed himself to kiss her forehead, making himself be satisfied with this last small gesture of affection. It had to be enough. It just had to. Turning away from the shelter of the tree, he took them back into the quiet house and was glad he didn't have to face Margaret Scully right now. God only knew what she'd be able to see in his face if she looked close enough. Mulder creeped up the stairs and took Scully into the guest bedroom she had used last night, placing her gently on the double bed and slipping off her shoes. He allowed himself to look at her for a few moments longer before pulling the spread up, resisting the urge to crawl in next to her. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he turned and retreated back down the stairs, not stopping until he was out the front door. He knew he was running away from the one thing that he wanted most in the world...away from the temptation named Dana. Margaret found him later on the front porch swing, motionless and brooding, his face angled downward in dejection, lost in his own dark thoughts. He didn't sense her presence until her hand lightly touched his arm. Looking up quickly, he tried to hide his surprise and his distress, obviously not knowing what she was going to say or do. Mrs. Scully could always make him feel like an awkward teenager, even though he knew she didn't regard him as such. She sat on the swing beside him, her warm fingers curling around a fist he hadn't even realized was clenched, and waited patiently. It was a very long time before she felt his hand relax and move to return her soft gesture, a quiet sigh escaping from between his lips. She let her gaze drift out over the darkened front yard, watching the moonlight play with the shadows, turning recognizable items into dreamy, strange objects. She knew the man beside her had a deep, strong affection for her daughter...and affection that anyone else but him would recognize as love...but couldn't under- stand why he continued to keep those affections to himself. She'd seen them under the tree in the back yard, watched as Dana had given up her grief in Fox's embrace, and noticed when they seemed on the verge of taking their relationship a step further. Oddly, she'd been disappointed to see Fox holding back, keeping himself from taking that final step she seriously believed would begin his own emotional healing. Why did he hesitate when others would have succumbed? A dog barking somewhere far away broke her thoughts. "Fox," she said softly, turning slightly in the swing so she could look at him easier. A shadow fell across his face, his eyes hidden in the darkness. She could feel the tension returning and knew he was leery of her intentions, of what she could sense in him. She tried to sooth his bruised emotions. "It means alot to us to have you here. I know none of this has been easy...and that you had to leave your work... but you've helped us with your calm presence..." He laughed once, with no humor, at her statement and saw confusion cloud his eyes. He pulled his hand from her grasp and turned so he could drape his arm across the back of the swing, his eyes seemingly looking at everything but her. "What?" She prompted when she saw he wasn't going to speak. He shook his head slightly, not sure if he would even be able to find the words to describe his feelings at the moment. This special woman, little Shannon, and especially his precious Scully, all had a piece of his heart now and it scared the hell out of him like nothing before. He'd gotten too close, allowed himself to feel a part of a family, and knew he was heading for disaster all over again. But, this time, he didn't think he'd have the strength to go on when he'd, somehow, driven them all away through his carelessness. "I saw you and Dana in the back yard." Margaret may as well have slapped his face for the reaction her comment got. He jerked and stood, taking a few steps away from the swing and moved to lean against one of the porch's support columns. "I...I didn't take advantage of her, Maggie," he all but choked on the admission. Margaret was instantly at his side, gripping his arm tightly. "I never accused you of doing that! Now, look at me. Fox, look at me!" He did as instructed, expecting to feel her palm conncting with his cheek...much like his mother had done when he had inadvertantly embarrassed her as a boy...his expression miserable. He hated that he had disappointed this woman so soon. "You and Dana care about each other, it's as plain as that moon up there in the sky," she gestured with a nod of her head. "Why do you persist in holding back? Why can't you show her what she means to you?" Mulder couldn't believe his ears. Was she actually condoning what he'd come so close to doing out there under that tree? He shook his head and tried to think clearly. "She...she wasn't awake. I mean, under normal circumstances, she would have never... she would have..." he knew he was flushing with embarrassment and was glad for the dimness. He was also aware of her small hand still gripping his arm. "She's just too vulnerable right now." "Vulnerable?" Margaret scoffed and released his arm so she could touch his neck. "She wasn't too vulnerable if she could leave a mark like this on you." Mulder frowned, not understanding, until his fingers brushed the tender spot where Scully's teeth had worked the skin raw. He blushed again, remembering the erotic feel of her hand on his erection, and quickly turned away, not wanting Margaret to see this aspect of his character. "Who's vulnerable now?" She whispered close to his back. She waited for him to respond, knowing he was being pulled in two directions at once: the well-worn path of his past experiences and the unknown road that could lead to his salvation. "I...I wanted her so badly," he whispered, feeling his throat constrict at the confession. There were tears burning at the backs of his eyes now, threatening to totally wreck his composure. He forced himself to turn and face her. "Yes, I...care about Dana...I have for years. But," he took a ragged breath and swiped at his mouth, "she...she's alway treated me only as a collegue. I'm just...her partner, her friend. Nothing... nothing more..." He lowered his head and felt rooted to the spot, unable to move, to think, to resist the tears overwhelming his vision. When Margaret's hand lightly touched his cheek, he sunk to his knees before her and began to quietly weep, letting his pent-up emotions free. He felt exposed, raw, scraped bare. And, then, Margaret was holding him in her embrace, offering support with her gentle hands and soft words. What she was saying, he had no idea, but the sounds were so nice, so comforting. He continued to cry for what he'd lost, for what he wanted, for what he never thought he would be allowed to have again, until he, literally, wore himself out. Margaret felt him droop in her arms and gently shook him back to awareness. He raised his wet face and looked into her sweet eyes...those eyes that could see everything, could see into his soul. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her daughter, how Dana had filled his empty life, but remembered: he didn't need to speak. Margaret already knew. She tugged him back to his feet and pulled him into the dark house, steering him to the couch in the living room. He all but fell onto the cushions, like a drunk coming home after closing the bars, and was immediately drifting to sleep. Something warm was placed over his body and he snuggled deeper into the soft fabric of the sofa, barely aware of where he was or who was with him. A hand, soft and soothing, was smoothing the hair from his forehead and he offered a small smile of gratitude. Soon, he was asleep. Margaret watched Fox sleep for a few minutes, making sure he was comfortable. Her mind was in turmoil as she thought of all she'd seen and heard today and she had to wonder if she had any right to tell Dana about what he'd confessed. Fox was everything a mother could want for a daughter but she couldn't help feeling he was just too scarred from past experiences to be fully free to give himself totally to another. And would Dana's love, if returned, be enough to keep his fears away? Margaret didn't know. Pressing her lips together until they formed a thin line, she eased down into a nearby chair and let her thoughts travel to each person in this house tonight. Every one of them was scarred, like Fox, in some way or another. And, as she thought of her own life, she knew she wasn't exempt. In all the world, was there a single person who'd never experienced death or sorrow or disaster? No, it just wasn't possible. Reaching into her pocket, Margaret Scully carefully removed the one item that would calm her turmoil, would set her mind at ease, would put everything into perspective. For, unlike others, Margaret had the strength of a believer and, as a believer, she knew of only one place to put her trust and faith. Making the sign of the cross, Margaret pulled the first bead on her well-used rosary between two fingers and silently began to pray.