Title: Seasons of Change Author: Gina Rain Category: MSR, UST, SA, MA, H Rating: PG-13 (mostly language) Spoilers: Millennium, Closure Feedback: ginarain@aol.com Archive: Sure, if you want Summary: Mulder remembers Scully's birthday. She is not thrilled. Disclaimer: Oh--would that they were mine. They would have deep conversations, flirt like crazy, act on said flirtation and smile a hell of a lot more. Alas, they belong to CC and company. They don't smile much. They wear dark clothes. Thank you: To Christina--my super-beta. Who else would so cheerfully watch my "buts?" Seriously, she is wonderful and on this Thanksgiving weekend, I am thankful she took mercy on my new-to-fanfic-soul and continues to help me so much. Another thank you to Bill Gates (!) for creating automatic back- up for Microsoft. Without him, half the story would be gone with the wind. Nasty power surge. Seasons of Change (Part 1 of 3) Last year, the day before her birthday, Scully said something odd. "It's strange. . .the times we were born. You made your appearance in the middle of a blaze of fire...during the last glories of a dying world. And I was born. . .after the funeral." I think I said something profound in response. "Scully, what the fuck are you talking about?" "The seasons, Mulder. The seasons. Fall is such a lovely time of year. I know the trees are all going into hibernation and all of that, but it's still beautiful. The crisp, invigorating air. The leaves bursting with color. It's wondrous, really. Winter, after the holidays, is just depressing. Everything is so gray, so cold, so dead. It's just--it's a horrible time to have been born." Okay. She gets morbid once in a while. Usually to commemorate the occasion of her birth. The cruddy weather last year probably added to her blahs. But why she chose to bring a warped sense of destiny into something as simple as our parents' sloppy or nonexistent contraception is beyond me. This year, she "knows," beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I will forget her birthday. She has not mentioned it. She has not bemoaned the cold, dank February. She's not alluded to seasons or changes or passages of time. You see, Scully feels she had no right to any kind of mini-depression, pre-mid-life-crisis, or really--anything. Because I'm the one in mourning and she has to be supportive if it kills her. The fact that I have never felt less like a person in mourning has seemed to elude her. In many ways, I did all my mourning long ago. Actually, more than half my life was spent that way. I took a week off after seeing Samantha for probably the last time in this life. I will admit, it had been a shock to my system. For days, I did nothing but lay in bed...sleeping. That, in and of itself, is odd. Scared the hell out of Scully. . .but, she gave me my (hushed tones now) "space," only calling me twice a day to make sure I was alive, I guess. I'm not much of a sleeper, but that week, I could have remained unconscious the whole time. Until I woke up on Thursday morning and suddenly remembered something a college roommate's very flaky girlfriend once told me. Her aunt had died and she went off somewhere to "write her name upon the wind." Now, in spite of my somewhat misunderstood spooky reputation, I am not a weirdo. That was one hell of a weird thing to do. I'm not exactly sure what it even entailed. But when I woke up that morning, that's exactly what I wanted to do for my dead. I went to the beach, froze my balls off and released my father, mother and sister to the wind. Unknotted the ball of nerves and heartache deep inside my soul to join them as a sacrifice. All of them. . .free. . .to soar. . .wherever. My insides felt as if they had been injected with helium. I didn't tell her. Scully would have had me in the padded cell before the night was up. No. Actually, I think the loony bin freaked her out. They didn't really let her have much contact with me there. But she would at least have ordered some MRI's or something. Bless her little scientific heart. I can't have time back. But I can make sure I enjoy what comes from here on out. And, step one was Scully's birthday. I wanted to surprise her. Since she expects nothing from me, I thought I had a good chance. I've even ignored the fact that, by now, there should be expectation there. The fact that there isn't should make me feel guilty as hell. But my new motto in life is. . ."onward Christian soldier!" OK, so I took a little creative license. "I have your answer, Scully," I said as I walked into the office on Scully-birthday-eve. She actually jumped a bit. Caught her. I don't normally do that but she was absolutely lost doing something very atypical. She was primping. Scully tends to attend to her female-type things very quickly. Usually, it's pull out the compact, apply lipstick, powder nose, put back compact. Thirty seconds max. Today, she was just staring at herself. Actually, she was running her finger lightly over her upper lip. Two thoughts passed through my mind simultaneously--what I wouldn't give to be her finger; and I really hoped that no one had come in and kissed her before I got there. Bizarre thoughts, I know, but that's how my mind works at times. Her voice broke my cerebral wanderings. "What? Answer to what question?" "Who's the fairest of them all, of course. That WAS what you were thinking about, wasn't it?" She gave me one of those patented let's-smile-a- smile-that's-not-a-smile-and-appease-Mulder-in- his-bullshit-mode-so-he-can-go-away looks. "Well?" I said. "Well, what?" "Don't you want the answer?" "I'm pretty sure you got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, Mulder. . .so, I know your answer." I smiled. I obviously didn't compliment this woman enough. I sat behind my desk and leaned back. "So, here is our game plan." "For what?" "Tomorrow." "Tomorrow? We aren't supposed to be doing anything but paperwork tomorrow, Mulder." "Well, you know--things come up." "You mean you dig them up...what is it this time?" That was definitely a cross look on her face. Cross--absolutely the word for it. I had a teacher in 4th grade that used to get "cross" whenever Fox would do something naughty. Looks like Fox did it again. "You have plans for tomorrow, Scully?" I asked in all innocence. "No. But Skinner didn't assign anything, so I'm assuming this is something you've gone out of your way to find, so you can avoid more paperwork that I will eventually be stuck with on some rainy weekend. Those aren't fun times, Mulder. I don't look forward to them, in spite of what you might think about me." What I might think about her? I certainly don't feel Scully--or perhaps anyone in the known world- -has a paperwork fetish. Well, I didn't have time to argue that. I needed to tell her about our plans for the morrow. "I didn't dig up this case. I was contacted. By the Connecticut PD, for your information. Don't have any slides. . .sorry, but here's the case in a nutshell. Old time Connecticut restaurant. Very regular clientele. Known for excellent food and cozy ambiance. After the dinner crowd leaves, and the regulars sit down over their coffee, dessert and assorted libations, the plumbing seems to be exuding a lovely crimson liquid known as human blood. Place has been checked--no sabotage. Liquid has been checked. Definitely blood. No known reason for it to be there." "That's ridiculous, Mulder. The health department should have shut it down by now." "Well, that's the point. The health department has been there many times. During the day, and even in the early evening, while food is being prepared-- this place keeps its four-star rating in every way. No blood. Not so much as a speck of dust to be found. It's only later. . .much later, that this happens. . .and only in the rest rooms. And no one wants to ruin this family's sixty year-old business with rumor and innuendo. Or even the facts. . .when they seem to be happening during such a contained window of time." She looked at me. Brows furrowed. Smirk upon lips. "So. . .now we are ghostbusters, Mulder?" "No ghosts, Scully. But you know, it is weird. . .so. . .who ya gonna call?" I smiled. She didn't. I took a chance. "Well, if you don't want to come with me, I can go myself. I just thought it might be a nice drive, at least." Shit. I saw the wheels begin to turn. . .in the wrong direction. I didn't want her to go there. I could see the heavily, heavily concealed pity for poor, alone-in-this-world Mulder. God, I didn't want her to go there. I didn't want her to be with me for that reason. "No, I'll go," she said. All right. Pity won out. Beggars can't be choosers, they say. I couldn't argue with her decision when it was the one I wanted. No matter what her motivation. Sometime before the day was out, she did it again. Not with a mirror, but with touch. She was sitting, kind of staring out into space and running her fingernail over what is commonly known as one's "laugh-lines." I had just the solution. "Scully? You have dry skin?" "Huh?" She moved her hand quickly away from her face. "Yeah, well, maybe a little. Winter and all." "I have just the thing," I opened the bottom drawer of my desk, threw aside a pair of spare socks, a box of pens, a flashlight, a spare clip of bullets, deodorant, a jock strap and there it was: an almost brand new bottle of cream. I tossed it to her and she caught it with two hands. "Mulder, this is hand cream." "So?" "So. . . you don't put this stuff on your face. This is industrial strength hand cream." Oops. Sorry. How the hell do I know about this shit? Worked on my chapped cheeks. Maybe she still could use it. "Aren't your hands dry?" I asked helpfully. I must have grown two heads because that is the only way you could explain away the look I got this time. "Mulder, I can assure you there is some moisture left in my body." Save me from temptation. Handed a straight line along with the knowledge that if I dare use it, I will be risking my manhood and singing in the Vienna Boys Choir way before next Christmastime. And, all of a sudden, I didn't want to use it because in the split second before she averted her eyes to her keyboard, I could swear I saw the glistening of tears. Is it ever really comforting for a woman to hear her partner reassure her about. . .what? Moisture levels? Wetness? This was definitely worse than talking about seasons last year. I did the only thing a self-respecting man could do. I gave a generic grunt and got back to work. Seasons of Change (Part 2 of 3) Headers in Part 1 February 23, 2000 8 PM Essex, Connecticut We compromised on a late start. Which meant, she told me we weren't leaving Washington till 2 PM and I agreed. I wasn't supposed to know that she had spent a quiet birthday brunch with her mother. God forbid I should know about her celebration. Well, Scully didn't know about the rooms booked in a cozy bed and breakfast, so I guess we were even. She was wearing a longer skirt than usual and a soft, fuzzy kind of sweater in a nice blue color. Matched her eyes. Matched the nightgown I bought her once during a bout of wishful thinking. Never gave it to her though. Maybe someday. One or two people were by the bar; five or six in the restaurant proper. The waiter, a male model type in his late 20's, smiled at us and seated us by a roaring fireplace. Cozy. That's what the website said. That's what it was. "Well?" "Well what, Mulder?" "What do you think? It's nice, isn't it?" "Yeah, for a place that allegedly serves up blood after your sauerbraten. . .sure. It's lovely." That's my girl. Romantic to the core. Had to nip this in the bud and get the show on the road. "Scully, why don't you check out the kitchen. Introduce yourself to a man named Franz, while I go to the men's room and see if the AB positive is flowing yet." She got up and went into the kitchen. The waiter came by and winked at me. "Everything is as you planned it, Mr. Mulder. It will be a perfect evening." "Thank you. She deserves it. It's been a very rough. . .year." I am a master of understatement. But to have said, "It's been a tough decade. . .or she's really had it rough since she hooked up with me, or. . .did I tell you about the time she was taken from me in a space craft?" would be too much for flirty-boy to handle. I pressed my fingers firmly on the creases of my crisp linen napkin. Had to admire touches like that. Martha Stewart said so. Any minute now, Scully would be throwing herself in my arms, giddy with anticipation of her birthday celebration. Any minute now. I opened my napkin. . .closed it. . .opened it. . .tried making a swan out of it. . .settled for a linen airplane. . .and was about to start the process over again, when I decided I should really check on the delay. I went into the kitchen. Franz, the plump, St. Nicholas clone of a chef was rapidly speaking to the waiter in German. They both immediately stopped when I walked through the door. "Where is she? Did you tell her?" "I did as you told me to, Mr. Mulder," Franz said in a thick accent. "I gave her the file. . .in it was the piece of paper that said, "Your x-file is. . .I remembered your birthday this year. Come out and celebrate with me. Love, Mulder." Those were the words you wanted, right, Mr. Mulder?" "Yes. . .and she. . .what? Where is she?" "She went to the restroom and hasn't come out yet." "Oh." Oh. Okay. That's not bad. She was probably overcome with emotion. "She was probably overcome with emotion," I echoed to them. "Probably." Franz didn't sound the least bit convincing. I went back to the table and picked up the napkin, wondering if I could perhaps try a swan this time. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scully come toward the table. No signs of tears in her eyes but her color was heightened. She didn't look at me as she sat down. "Happy birthday, Scully." "Thank you." "Surprise." All right. Even I know that sounded pathetic. She looked up at me and smiled a completely mirthless smile. She hated it. She absolutely hated the fact that I surprised her. "What's wrong, Scully?" "Nothing, Mulder." "I know you don't like surprises, in general. . .but it's not like Skinner will be popping out of a flaming cake wearing a sequined thong or anything. It's just you and me." "I know. You're right. I don't like surprises. I do appreciate honesty, though." Honesty? This wasn't lying. Well, I guess it was-- but all for a good cause. Everyone lies for things like this. That type of thing must even be sanctioned by her church. It had to be. Catholics were always throwing wedding showers and baby showers and stuff. None of those ladies were going to hell any time soon. "Scully. I couldn't surprise you by telling you I was surprising you. Even you must see. . ." "Even I must see? What the hell does that mean?" "Nothing. Scully. . .I'm sorry. But I could think of no other way of getting you up here. And you have to admit, the alleged x-file was pretty lame. I mean, you could have seen through it. As a matter of fact, I was pretty sure you did." "And I was pretty sure you would take anything at this point, Mulder. . .to keep from. . ." She stopped. Well, of course she stopped. She was heading into dangerous territory. . .or perhaps, she just didn't know which of the multiple choices she should select to end her sentence. "To keep from thinking about. . .dealing with. . .A) Your mother B) Your sister C) Your father D) your entire fucked-up life or E) all of the above." The waiter had seen Scully sit down. He was now happily approaching our table. I had pre-ordered some wine and appetizers. "Ms. Scully. . .happy birthday and many happy returns. Mr. Mulder has quite an evening planned for you." There was that wink again. Was that an affectation or some facial malady? It didn't matter. Scully was too busy paying attention to smoothing out the napkin on her lap. The linens were getting a workout tonight. When he left, I picked up my glass and raised it a bit. "Well, okay. . .let's start this celebration, shall we? I wish you a wonderful start to a wondrous year." Blech. Should have read a book on toasts. sounded downright poetic next to what I had just said. "Thank you." She took a sip. Politeness and silence reigned. But it doesn't reign long when I'm around. "Scully. . .look. Obviously, this is not what you want. So let's just eat dinner since we have a pretty long ride back--and then, we'll hit the road and you can have the entire weekend ahead of you. I promise I won't so much as breathe within ten miles of your place. Consider it my birthday gift to you." That got her to look up. "You want me to feel bad, Mulder? Okay, I feel bad. I feel guilty and awful that I don't like surprises and I don't want to celebrate my fucking birthday, ok? Does that make feel better?" But I wasn't about to say any of that. I didn't want to ruin her day any more than I had. "Do you want to leave before we eat?" I asked gently. Mr. Winky Waiter chose that moment to reappear. With my gift. Fuck. "Ms. Scully. . .from Mr. Mulder. With love." Um. . .any aliens out there? If so, now would be a real good time to start to colonize. Really. She took the box of long stemmed roses from his hands briefly, looked through the cellophane "window" and handed it back to Winks. "Could you keep this for me until we get ready to leave, please?" That's it. I wasn't asking her to fake an orgasm. Just fake two minutes of interest in what was in front of her face. "Scully. . .do you think you could at least look at it?" "I did Mulder. They are lovely. Thank you." "Open the box, Scully." That didn't sound very friendly, but it's hard to make your voice sing through gritted teeth. "Oh, okay." Such enthusiasm. She opened the lid. "Oh. . .you have one red rose among the white. That's a nice touch. Thank you, Mulder." "Look down, Scully." For heaven sake. . .the woman can spot the tiny entry mark of a hypodermic needle on a stiff at forty paces. Well, that was my mistake. I should have put her present on a cadaver. Then she would see it. "Oh." Finally. She unwrapped the chain from around the stems of the roses and held the locket between her first two fingers. "It's lovely." Well, at least she didn't thank me again. "Open it." Back to giving instructions again. She opened it. There was the tiniest little picture of the two of us on the right side. On the left, I had the engraver write, "Believe. . .XOX- M." She smiled softly. "Look, Scully, X's. . .although I see they snuck in an O." I pointed my finger at the letters. "Mulder. . .generally, x's and o's stand for kisses and hugs in jewelry lingo." God. That confirms it. She really does think I'm a moron. Or, she has a very underdeveloped sense of humor. No, that couldn't be right. She's stayed with me all these years. Yeah, that's been a barrel of laughs, hasn't it? That's why she's staring in the mirror for days, looking for new wrinkles. "If I didn't already know that, I can assure you that the woman behind the jewelry counter informed me of that fact about forty-nine times before I pulled out my credit card. I may prefer other kinds of kisses and hugs, but I thought it would be safer to stick to the cold metal variety. " She had the good grace to blush. But I'm not really sure why. Over having assumed I was a dolt, or over imagining what kind of kisses I liked. Well, I showed her during New Year's Eve, didn't I? Casanova Mulder just bowled her over with that seven-year release of passion that lasted all of eight or nine seconds before I fucked it up by speaking. No. Actually, I probably fucked it up before that. I usually did. I guess that helium-induced release of guilt and chronic morbidity has a shelf life. I must have reached it. "You want to help me put it on?" she asked. I got up and rounded the table. I take what I can get. I'm no fool. She was lifting her hair and I encircled her neck with the chain. It was a longer chain, so it wouldn't interfere with her cross. I secured the tiny lock and grazed my fingers against the slightly raised skin under which her implant lay. A sigh automatically fled my mouth. My whole mood shifted for the evening with that one glance. I went back to my own seat and seriously studied the menu. We went through a fairly quiet meal. I wished Scully had kissed me after I gave her the locket. Terrible thought, I know, but I wish she had. It wasn't that type of a weekend. . .not at all. There were two rooms booked for us and I had no intention of even thinking in any other direction. But I just wanted this to be a happy occasion and I wanted to keep moving our relationship forward a little. And another kiss during this millennium might be a start. Instead, I thought of all the time that had passed us by and the heartache that might never be overcome no matter how hard we tried. Seasons of Change (Part 3 of 3) Headers in Part 1 "You scared me, Mulder." Did she speak? I was so used to listening to the softly playing love songs in the background and the sounds of silence from Scully that I wasn't even sure. "You were scared over this?" I asked, incredulously. "No. Not over this. Over. . .everything." Oh. Everything. "There was nothing to be scared of. Shit happens." I looked down at my plate. There was really nothing left on it to play with. I should have at least left the parsley. I wasn't sure I wanted to have this conversation. "I think there was a lot to be afraid of, Mulder, and I was afraid of it all." I looked at her. Beautiful still. But there were additional lines. I wished I could erase them and the memories each one held. "I wouldn't have done anything drastic, Scully. You did know that, didn't you?" "I hoped." "You could have come over and seen for yourself, if you wanted." "I wanted you to have time. I didn't know what to say. I guess. . .selfishly, I needed time myself. It was very difficult to just put it to rest. I didn't even see. . .what you did." "And you don't believe I saw it either, do you?" It was a statement. No recriminations. Just a statement. "I believe you think you did." Nice way of saying "no." "Scully. . .you've known me for so long. Nothing, not anything. . .has made me stop looking for her. And, yes. . .I was tired. . .and more than anything, I wanted it over. But nothing short of knowing for sure that what I saw. . .and felt. . .was real. . .would make me stop the search. I wish you could have seen her, too. She was lovely. And happy. And she knew me. God, she knew me." Great, I was making her eyes tear up. Hell, I was making mine tear up as well. But when has that ever stopped me? Besides, she brought it up. I took a deep breath and continued. "Many times. . .way too many to count. . .I had thought of her. Of the types of things that might have happened to her. . .might still be happening to her. Sometimes, especially before you joined the x-files. . .I would fall into bed with a headache, or sore feet and if I so much as said one word--in my own head--that even remotely resembled a complaint of any kind. . .I about killed myself with guilt. I had no right to ever complain. Not when she might be experiencing. . .who knows what. And there she was. Younger than I expected; older than I remembered. And whatever her short life handed her. . .she was happy now. . .and she knew me now. And, God. . .in many ways, that's more than I ever dreamed of. And, I swear to you, it was real." Scully covered my hand as the bus boy cleared up our plates. Okay, dinner was not a complete disaster. I hadn't meant to talk about this. But at least I knew where I had made my mistake. I should have taken her with me to my wind-writing ceremony. She needed it just as much as I did. For now, I just needed to lighten the mood a bit. It was still her birthday and maybe we could have a nice dessert and I could talk her into that bed and breakfast after all. Shit. Dessert. I abruptly pushed my chair back so that it tipped backwards against the wall. Too late. Winky was approaching with three of his kind. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. . .happy birthday Dear Dana. . .happy birthday to you." Holy flaming cow. Instead of the subtle six candles I requested. . .they had at least sixty. Wonderful. I would certainly score some points with this. The waiter put the bonfire on the table and I slumped into my seat in defeat, only to have my ass encounter the point of the chair that was still at an angle. I yelped in surprise, gripped the table and upset the high-stemmed water glass, effectively dousing half the candles on the cake with the subsequent mini-tidal wave. Scully quickly blew out the other candles and collapsed back on her chair, the heel of her hand pressing violently into her mouth to keep herself from exploding in laughter. Luckily, all the other patrons of the restaurant were gone. No one to witness my humiliation except the staff and, as always, Scully. "Poor Mulder," she managed to gasp out behind the hand-press. Tears were actually springing to her eyes from her efforts. Thanks, Scully. At least I knew she was fucking finally having a passably good time. Scully took a deep breath, wiped her tears with her napkin and stood up. "Dance with me," she held out her hand. "There is no formal dance floor." "Well, there's music, and barely anyone around. Besides, I think the chef likes us and I know the waiter likes me. He's been winking at me all evening. So I don't think anyone would mind." Hated to burst her bubble about the waiter with the twitchy eye...but I did want to do something other than bask in my misery. I stood up and got into classic dance position. Within seconds, the music was raised up to a higher volume. Nice to know my exploits were still being monitored this evening. Wouldn't want to deprive anyone of high comedic entertainment. She slipped her hand out of mine and guided both of my arms around her waist. She gripped my upper arms. "I wish we could start this whole evening over," she said softly. "Why? It's been so successful thus far." "I hurt your feelings. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt your feelings." "No, Scully. You didn't. The cake thing was funny. I'll admit to it in another five hundred years or so. Probably around the same time it dries out." She rested her head against my chest and ran her hands up and down my arms before allowing them to come to a rest on my shoulders. Classic hug position. What a way to dance. "I like your arms around me. Everything feels safer. . .clearer." Did she just say that, or was I having some sort of fantasy? It certainly wasn't my usual fantasy, but it was real and tender. Everything else seemed to jump quickly into the recycling bin of my mind. Put away for possible future use, while I concentrated on the glorious reality before me. She looked up at me and took a deep breath. That's never a good sign. < Talk about being in my arms again. I'm not sure I got the exact quote.> "I lied. . .sort of, " was not the quote I was looking for. "When?" I asked. "When I told you I was just giving you your space after you found out about Samantha. That's not the whole truth." Shit. She found someone. She was with him during that week. She's giving me a stand up, audio version of a Dear John letter. "Mulder. . ." Here it comes. I can be big about this. I'll just tear off his head and then throw myself over a cliff. Simple really. "Mulder," she started again. "I just knew how totally devastated you must be. To have your dream end. . .in a way that you really never believed it would. I mean, when Melissa died. . .she was gone. As hard as it was. . .I had to face it and move on. But you--always had hope and never gave up. I couldn't. . .I just couldn't. . .be there to experience that with you. Not because I didn't want to but. . ." "But what?" We had pretty much stopped dancing and just stood there with our arms around each other. I was holding my breath, still very unsure of what she was going to say next. "Not because I didn't want to but because I didn't want you to associate me with every moment of pain in your life." Scully holds a lot back but when she decides to say something, she gets right to the heart of things. And cuts right to my heart. "I associate you with anything and everything that has been good in my life, Scully. Not pain." I realized something looking into her eyes. There had been no pity. Well, none beyond that of a friend feeling another friend's pain. . .sharing in it. There was more fear than anything else. Fear that she wasn't doing enough, perhaps. I never really think of her as having moments of insecurity. But she's human. Sometimes, I forget that fact. She's so strong. . .she's so strong for me. I leaned down and planted my chin on top of her head. I wrapped my arms around her even tighter. No more simple waist gripping. We were pretty much melting into each other. "No wonder you were pissed about the party. Here you think I'm ripping my soul out and I'm planning fiesta 2000." She smiled up at me and started moving a bit again. "Something like that," she admitted. I let out a deep breath. That felt good, too. We know so damned much about each other, but still manage to get so much wrong. We have to work on that more in the future. The future. Our future. Ours to make or break. First stop when we get back. . .the beach. I'll explain the whole writing on the wind thing. She'll think it odd, but maybe she'll understand the need for some symbolic ceremony. I smiled to myself. Symbolic ceremonies were getting more and more attractive the older I got. "So, Mulder," She interrupted my thoughts and looked up at me with a devilish little gleam in her eye. "Want to help me out here?" "What?" "I haven't thanked you for. . .everything. I didn't bring along my higher heels. . .I need you to bend a little." Bend a little? I suppose she means forward this time? I went her one better. I spun her around a bit and then pushed her back down across my knee in a perfectly executed "dip." She didn't hold back her laugh this time, or the gleam in her eye. "Let me up, Mulder." "Not a chance. You said I was too high up. We're on a much more even level now." Actually, my face was about two inches from hers. I could feel her breath on my mouth, see those lovely eyes up close and personal. My back was breaking, but I could ignore that. "We're not even at all. You're hovering over me. That's very intimidating." "Scully, you aren't scared of me, are you? Afraid I'll bite?" For just a second, it looked like I wasn't the one about to do the biting. She looked highly tempted and would not take her eyes off my mouth. "Scully. . .now that I have you captive for a moment. . .can I just tell you that you have absolutely nothing to worry about?" "Other than falling and breaking my ass, you mean?" "Hold on tighter if you're afraid of falling," I said and she did. "No, I mean. . .whatever dryness issues you may have, you are still absolutely breathtaking." She giggled. Not like her, I know, but she did. "For the record, Mulder. I have no dryness issues. I just found a few lines that I don't remember seeing before. Normal signs of aging. I don't even pay attention to such things, usually, but I get a little weird around my birthday." "I've noticed." "Mulder. . .can we continue this conversation standing? I'm beginning to spasm here." "Oooh. That sounds intriguing." Before letting her up, I kissed her. She was so surprised, she opened her mouth to complain, but changed her mind as I used the incentive to deepen the kiss. I pulled back, faked letting her go for a split second, her arms gripped me even tighter and then I pulled us both back up to a standing position. I was going to pay for that move. I couldn't wait. I faked nonchalance. "In spite of the nonexistent lines. . .everything seems to be in working order, Scully." She turned around, went over to the fireplace and stood up on the six-inch high stone base. "Come here, Mulder. I have some quality control of my own to do." I walked over to her. She draped her arms loosely about my shoulders. "Now, we're even. I should get a box like this and carry it around always." She stared at me, eyes dancing with amusement. " Hey--you have hazel eyes." "Very funny." She still was a bit shorter than I was, but I wasn't about to bring that up. I leaned down just a little bit and she grabbed the back of my neck and touched her mouth to mine. I opened my mouth slightly and kissed her half with my lips and half with the soft inner side of my lips and to my amazement, she opened up and did the same. And to add to that, I felt fingers raking through my hair and pulling my face closer--allowing me even further into that kiss. The recycling bin of my mind was having some of its files restored. "These the types of kisses you prefer, Mulder?" she murmured into my cheek, kissing it as well. "Yes," I managed to squeak out. I liked those kisses very much. You could solve Scully's seasonal affective disorder with those kisses. There were no gray skies involved, just golden sunshine and warm beaches. Maybe the rest of the weekend would go as planned after all. It doesn't take much to revive my--optimism. "Thank you, Mulder," she said, flushed and a bit breathless. "It really has been a very nice birthday." Liar. Well. . .partial liar. She was having a nice time now, I thought. Hard won, partial victories were still pretty satisfying. I was tired of talking and there really was no way we could stand there kissing the night away. Not there anyway. Sooner or later, someone would grab the hose, which would really be embarrassing for two federal agents. So in the midst of the post-funeral atmosphere of a cold, bleak February night, we danced. We clung to each other and the life within. The life within each of us individually, and the life we were stumbling through collectively. The day and the season became warmer. Surprise, Mulder. The evening was a bizarre success. The End.