"Life Changes"
by Juliettt@aol.com (July 30, 1995)

Okay, this one is just a short relationship piece that is set about a 
year after "Epithalamion" and "Wonders Wrought."  No case, although 
some of our old friends and enemies do put in an appearance. . . .  Oh, 
yeah.  Fox Mulder, Dana Scully (Mulder), Walter Skinner, and Phoebe 
Greene (this would be the "enemy" aforementioned) belong to Chris 
Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions and FOX Broadcasing, not to 
mention the actors who portray them, and are used very lovingly (except 
for Phoebe) but without permission (get the idea I don't like Phoebe 
much?  Oh, good).  Lucinda Carey belongs to Sheryl Clay and is used 
with permission.  This story, however, is mine.

*************************
"Life Changes"
by Juliettt@aol.com
*************************

	Neither of them had really wanted to go to the party.  But the 
Director was retiring and so they had agreed to "put in an appearance" 
-- a brief one, Mulder sincerely hoped.   And then they could go home 
for their own private celebration.  It was just one year ago today that he 
and Scully had been officially separated by Assistant Director Walter 
Skinner.  One year ago today that he had asked her to marry him.  The 
next week would mark their first anniversary.

	But Skinner had asked them to be there and so they had 
agreed reluctantly, knowing that it was probably at least partially his 
"arrangement" of their transfers to separate but sister departments 
that had resulted in their boss' being passed over in the search for a 
new Director.  He would remain A.D. -- the new man was younger and 
more ambitious and by all accounts was likely to remain in office at 
least as long as his predecessor, from whom he had inherited the 
dubious ability correctly to read the prevailing political winds and to 
shift his loyalties accordingly.  In contrast, Walter Skinner was a 
company man and would always give his best to the Bureau, but he 
also held certain loyalties of his own, and his were unwavering.  And 
one of those loyalties was to Fox Mulder and Dana Scully and the 
team they represented.

	Mulder pulled up in front of the brightly lit mansion and 
stepped out of the car, handing the keys to the valet.  Scully opened 
her own door and slid out and stood waiting for him.  He smiled at her 
as he held out his hand and she took it.  His wife, he thought, was 
looking absolutely stunning in her simple, yet elegant, black dress.  It 
was long and slim-fitting and strapless, and his eyes warmed as they 
slid across her bare shoulders and throat, up her smiling face to the 
shining red curls atop her head.

	"Have I told you this evening how ravishing you look?" he 
whispered as they climbed the steps.

	She gave him a secretive smile.  "Don't you mean 'ravished'?"  
They shared a meaningful glance.  When he had walked back into the 
bedroom to ask her to help him with his tie and had seen her standing 
in front of the mirror putting the finishing touches on her makeup all 
thoughts of ties and parties and company loyalty had completely left his 
mind and it had been another hour or more before she could redo her hair 
and makeup and finally slip into the dress she had bought especially for 
this occasion.  Dana wanted to look nice for him.

	And, she knew, Phoebe Greene would be there, and she 
would be -- hanged -- if she looked anything but her best.

	Phoebe was in the States, ostensibly on a case.  But Dana 
found it very interesting that she had been seen on several occasions 
with a certain influential and recently divorced Senator who was an old 
friend of the retiring Director's.  Oh, yes, Phoebe would be there.

	It would be the first time either of them had seen her since the 
L'Ively case so long ago.  And Dana had made a vow to herself that 
Phoebe would not be enjoying any more dances in her husband's arms.

	Looking back, she realized that she had been jealous -- 
extremely jealous -- of Mulder's attentions towards Phoebe.  She had 
known from his reactions to the Englishwoman that any attraction he 
felt toward her was unwilling, but she seemed to have some sort of hold 
on him.

	Well now she, Dana, was the one with the hold on him.  She 
was completely confident of his fidelity.  She just hoped he would not 
be hurt by that she-bitch.

	And so her smile as she admired the way his well-cut tuxedo 
fit his lanky, graceful body was warm and just slightly seductive.  He 
felt his heart leap and prayed the night would soon be over and they 
would be back in their beloved house in front of the fireplace, just him 
and her, the two of them in their own world that had been so long in the 
making. . . .

	"Scully, Mulder -- glad to see you could come."  Walter 
Skinner walked up to them with a frank, open smile.  He shook 
Mulder's hand but leaned down and kissed Scully on the cheek.  She 
was slightly surprised but smiled back and squeezed his shoulder.  
Next to her, Mulder was kissing Lucinda Carey on the cheek.  She and 
Scully hugged warmly.  The two women were friends and shared, 
among other things, a mutual admiration of Mulder and Skinner.

	"Sir," Scully was saying quietly but seriously, "I only wish. . . ."

	His raised hand forestalled her words.  "Agent Scully, I 
wasn't cut out to be Director.  I always knew that.  To tell the truth," 
he murmured with a grin, "I don't think I have the temperament.  And 
besides -- who would keep an eye on you two?"  They all shared a 
laugh at his remark.  They knew he was only half-joking.  Walter 
Skinner *had* kept an eye on them, and he was almost single-
handedly responsible for the change in circumstances which had led 
to their marriage.

	"Sir," Mulder said even more softly, "thanks again."  He 
didn't need to say any more.  Skinner looked him straight in the eye 
as he slid his arm around Lucinda.  He understood Mulder's feelings 
completely.

	"Don't mention it, Agent Mulder."

*****

	"Champagne, Scully?"  Mulder gestured to the full silver 
platters being carried past by uniformed servers.  
	
	She smiled and shook her head.  "No thanks, Mulder."  He 
nodded and went in search of punch instead -- for both of them.  She 
smiled again.  He was so sweet that way. . . .

	"Dana Scully!"  The rich, velvet tones of the Continent made 
Scully cringe slightly, but she turned with a dazzling smile.

	"Why, Phoebe.  Fancy meeting you here."

	The two women faced one another, neither making a move to 
embrace or shake hands or otherwise give any indication that the other 
was welcome.  Scully felt a sudden warmth behind her as Mulder 
returned with their punch.

	"Here ya go, Scully," he said, pressing the glass into her 
hand.  She turned and smiled up at him.  He held her gaze for a 
moment, his eyes reassuring, then turned to face the enemy.  
"Phoebe."  His voice was low and calm.  He pressed one hand 
warmly against his wife's back, caressing the bare skin for a moment 
before shifting slightly away from her.

	Phoebe eyed the pair in front of her.  Interesting body language, 
she thought.  Were she in Dana Scully's place she would be standing 
pressed against Mulder, her arm around his waist or neck.  Definitely 
giving the "hands-off-he's-mine" message.

	But Scully stood on her own ground, several inches between 
her and her husband, neither of them even touching.  And yet --

	Her eyes narrowed slightly.  And yet there was something 
about these two that described a space around both of them as 
"personal space."  They were not even touching, much less hanging 
all over one another.  It was almost as though they were so sure of one 
another they had no need for contact.  She frowned mentally.  Their 
bond was even closer than she had anticipated.

	When she had first met Dana Scully some years ago she had 
taken an instinctive dislike to the younger woman.  Physically Phoebe 
could hold her own against the diminutive agent, and mentally she was 
no slouch, either.

	But something irradiated from Scully that Phoebe knew she 
lacked.  Something she had perhaps never had.

	Integrity.  Honesty.  A passion for the truth.  Friendship.  And 
loyalty -- loyalty to Fox Mulder.

	It was this, Phoebe knew, that had won him in the end.  Their 
affection and respect and loyalty and love had blazed even in the early 
years of their partnership.

	Now, combined and interwoven as it was with the passion of 
romance and marriage and physical union, that deeper partnership was 
like a blinding light.

	Still, she would not be so easily dissuaded.  "Mulder, would 
you care to dance?" she asked with a coy smile.  If she could not win 
him back, at least she could make him suffer a little, even if it was 
through simple embarrassment.

	"No, thank you, Phoebe," he said with a smile.  "This dance 
is already promised."

	She was taken aback -- not at his ducking her offer, but at the 
manner in which he refused her.  He was not hiding behind his marriage 
to Dana Scully, not running from her.  That she could have taken, could 
even have dealt with and used to her own advantage.

	What utterly stunned her was the absolute lack of any regret 
or discomfort in his manner as he nodded to her and guided the petite 
redhead to the floor.  It was as if . . . as if. . . .

	As if Fox Mulder were finally over Phoebe Greene.

	She couldn't believe it.

*****

	Out on the floor Mulder took Scully in his arms and held her 
close against his body, slowly sweeping her into a waltz.  She felt his 
smile against her hair.

	"Fox," she said quietly, "you could've danced with her, you 
know."

	"Why?" he asked her, his voice soft.  "I didn't *want* to dance 
with her.  I wanted to dance with *you*."

	She drew back slightly and looked up into his face.  He gazed 
back down at her.  For the first time as he spoke of Phoebe Greene 
his eyes were clear.  She felt a tightening in her throat and buried her 
face in the side of his neck with a smile and a sigh, sliding her arms up 
around his neck.  "I love you," she whispered.

	"And I love you."  He held her close, his eyes closed as they 
swayed to the music.  She felt so good in his arms -- so right, as if 
their bodies had been made together, for one another.  It had always 
felt that way in bed, too. . . . There was no feeling of otherness at all.  
Every time he loved her he felt as though he had come home again.

*****

	They danced several more dances together, moving together 
across the crowded floor effortlessly, their minds and bodies united in 
this as they were in so many other things.  Phoebe watched with 
narrowed eyes.  Those two looked almost as if they were making love 
right there on the dance floor, she thought with angry amusement.  
And then the pang of jealousy and regret.

	Fox Mulder had never made love with her.

	Well, sure, there had been an intense physical relationship.  
And at one time, she knew, he had been ready to love her.  He had 
offered his heart to her and she had ruthlessly squashed it.

	But now for the first time she realized that she had never 
really had any hold on Fox Mulder.  The boy, perhaps, but never the 
man.  Even years before when she had arrived, unannounced, in 
Washington, he had belonged to Dana Scully heart and mind and soul 
despite the fact that they were not physically involved.

	And, for the first time, she realized just how much that hurt.  
When she had hurt him so long ago all the regret had been on his side.  
Oh, she had been sorry -- for a time -- that she could no longer number 
the dark, serious, and handsome American among her admirers.  But 
then he was just a student; the attentions of a junior Oxford don soon 
supplanted any memories she had of Mulder.

	Until the L'Ively case.  When she heard that the minister and 
his family were going to D.C. she had suggested herself as the logical 
chaperone.  After all, she had argued, she had "friends" in the Bureau.  
Her supervisor had looked at her with raised eyebrows but said nothing.  
He knew good and well what sort of "friends" Phoebe was likely to 
have, and he had seen the devastating effect she had on the men of her 
department.  He, fortunately, had never fallen victim to her charms.  
Whether that was due more to the fact that he was genuinely devoted to 
his wife of twenty years or to Phoebe's evident reluctance to involve 
herself with her immediate superior he did not question.  He simply 
accepted his apparent immunity with thankfulness and issued her travel 
orders to the States.

	She had occupied her time crossing the Atlantic planning her 
meeting with Mulder, having prepared everything involving the case itself 
before she left England.  Whatever else Phoebe Greene may or may not 
have been, she was efficient, and she was a good Inspector.

	And she had applied this same efficiency to plotting her second 
conquest of Fox Mulder.  That she would win him she had no doubt.  It 
was simply a matter of technique.

	Of course, she had not reckoned on Dana Scully.

	Phoebe scowled darkly at the memory of her first meeting 
with her ex-lover's partner.  When she had opened Mulder's car door 
and seen the petite redhead in the passenger seat she was taken 
aback.  Scully was not Mulder's type.  She was too short, for one thing.  
And despite her red hair and luminous blue eyes she looked fragile.  
She could never dominate Mulder the way Phoebe had.

	When Scully climbed out of the car and joined Mulder as he 
introduced the two women Phoebe began to realize that she might have 
underestimated the younger woman.  She was physically small, but the 
determined thrust of her jaw and the obvious intelligence in her eyes 
gave the Englishwoman pause.  When Mulder introduced her as his 
partner she should have been relieved.  Instead she was dismayed.

	Any woman who could hold her own professionally with Fox 
Mulder was a force with which to be reckoned.  Add to this the factor 
that Scully was an M.D. in addition to being a Special Agent, and 
Phoebe knew she had her work cut out for her.

	Within just a few meetings she knew that Mulder and Scully 
were not carrying on an affair.  But she knew something else, something 
she knew not even Mulder and Scully themselves knew.

	They were falling in love.

	And this knowledge sent chills up her spine.

	Of course, she had never expected Mulder to become a monk 
after she had so unceremoniously dumped him.  She smiled a little at 
the image that thought conjured up.  But she had never really 
considered the possibility that this sensitive, troubled man could ever 
find a woman who would accept his fears and angst and whose love 
would allow him to mature to the point that he could be really, truly 
happy.  And this is the potential she saw in his relationship with Dana 
Scully.

	She had begun playing mind games with him.  Really, she had 
begun before she ever left England.  She knew Mulder was absolutely 
phobic about fire -- really the only true fear he had besides his, to her, 
irrational fear of extraterrestrials.

	And so she had intentionally involved him in a case involving 
an arsonist.  That there was no apparent physical means of 
detonation only gave her a rationalization for involving him; she had 
followed his career discreetly and knew that his fixation on finding his 
sister had led him to open the files which eventually resulted in the 
formation of the X-Files Division.  

	She had also made a cassette tape and, using the most 
rudimentary skills of breaking and entering, had planted it in his car.  
She smirked at the memory.  Whatever else her reunion with Mulder 
had been, that part of it had not been disappointing.  He had practically 
jumped out of his skin when she had opened that car door.

	Phoebe had hoped to work with Mulder on this case, but 
when she had met Scully, had assessed just how close these two 
partners were, her hopes had flagged somewhat.  Thus she had been 
stunned, then pleased, when Scully agreed that Mulder should work 
with Phoebe alone.  Later, however, she wondered.  She had been 
getting mixed signals from Dana Scully since she had arrived.  Was 
there really nothing between them?  Or was she just so assured of his 
affections that she had no qualms about his working with an old lover?

	She had begun to assess Scully's relationship with Mulder and 
to attempt to use it against them.  Scully was skeptical?  She, Phoebe, 
readily accepted Mulder's suggestion that the arsonist might be using 
paranormal abilities to start the fires.  When Scully and Mulder disagreed 
on a theory she took Mulder's side.  She had caught Scully watching her 
narrowly and the younger woman's apparent jealousy overjoyed her.

	But when Mulder had risked his own life to rescue the 
minister's children it had been Scully who rushed to his side while 
Phoebe played the cool diplomat, thanking and congratulating the 
man who had saved the children, watching the two Americans huddled 
on the floor of the hallway out of the corner of her eye all the while.  
She knew she could not compete with Scully in the coddling 
department -- Mulder knew her shallowness and she could never hope 
to fake concern for him.  So she refused to enter the battle at all, 
instead simply conceding that minor victory to Scully and reassuring 
herself that Mulder would see his partner's caring simply as an 
extension of her friendship and medical training.

	This, she now realized, was where she had lost not only the 
minor skirmish, but the war as well.

	She had begun to get the first glimmer of her miscalculation 
when she finally went to Mulder's room -- the room *she* had reserved 
in hopes of celebrating her conquest with a night or two of passion -- to 
find Scully there, caring for him.  She had thought Scully outclassed by 
her Continental breeding and upper-class mannerisms, but she had been 
wrong.  Mulder's partner looked completely in her element in the exquisite 
hotel room.  Whereas Phoebe always drew attention to herself like an 
orchid, carefully cultivated in a hothouse, Scully reminded her of a wild 
rose -- eminently adaptable yet forever uniquely her own.  A snatch of an
old ballad came unbidden to her mind:

	My wild Irish rose
	The sweetest flower that grows
	I've searched everywhere
	But none can compare
	To my wild Irish rose. . . .

	To make matters worse, Mulder had been walking around in 
front of Scully in boxer shorts with his robe open.  When she, Phoebe, 
had come into the room he had deliberately wrapped the robe tightly 
around himself.  Once again, telling body language.  She might have 
been reassured by his feeling comfortable enough with his partner to 
parade around half-naked in front of her; after all, she had learned in her 
graduate psychology classes that men and women who were attracted 
to one another were usually self-conscious about the attraction.  But 
she had caught the glimmer of interest in Scully's eyes as she looked 
at Mulder and had seen an answering flicker in his gaze at other times 
during her stay in America, and it was enough.

	The final blow had come not long after.  Scully had insisted that 
the minister's driver had been downstairs just before the fire alarms had 
gone off, while he was supposed to be upstairs watching the children.  
She had, Phoebe realized, been able to retain her professional instincts 
even while she watched the Englishwoman kissing Mulder.  A grudging 
respect for the American agent was born in her at that moment.  She 
would never admit it to Mulder or Scully, but she knew that her ex-lover 
had drawn a partner truly worthy of the name.

	But it was not until the incident at the guest house where 
the minister was staying that Phoebe finally conceded defeat, at 
least to herself.  When the house had begun catching fire and Mulder 
had sent them all outside before he braved the flames to rescue the 
children, it was Scully to whom he turned, not her.  He had dismissed 
Phoebe with the simple command to follow the rest of the family outside.  
He and Scully were a team, two halves of a single organism working in 
synchronicity to save the children -- and to find the truth.

	And when Phoebe saw the way Scully looked at Mulder in 
that split second before she nodded and went to do as he had asked 
her, she despaired.  She would never, despite her cultivated acting 
skills which she used to further her own interests both professionally 
and personally, be able to look at a man, any man, in quite that way.  
Scully herself seemed completely unaware of it, as did Mulder.  She 
hurried off to do as he had asked her, while Phoebe lingered at the foot 
of the stairs to tell Mulder to be careful.  To an outsider it might have 
seemed that it was with Phoebe that Mulder had the closer bond.  But 
she was not fooled.

	She cursed mentally.  They didn't even need words, these two.  
Somehow they were able to convey entire conversations in a single 
glance.  Her heart fell.  She had lost.  For perhaps the first time in her 
life she had been forced to retreat from the battlefield instead of driving 
her opponent before her.

	She did not intend to go quietly.  Gracefully, yes, but not 
without leaving a reminder of what Mulder had "lost."

	And so, that night, she had made another cassette tape, and 
left it in his office.  A witty, sardonic goodbye carefully crafted to 
remind him of the times they had spent together.  Enough, she hoped, 
to make him doubt the decision he did not even yet realize he had 
made.

	Now Phoebe sighed, wondering how, exactly, Mulder had reacted 
to the tape.

	She had no idea that he had never even listened to it.

*****
	"Care to join me for a walk in the garden?" Mulder asked his 
wife as the song ended. 

	"Love to," she smiled up at him.  He followed her across the 
room, guiding her with a faint, ghostlike touch at the small of her back.  
She remembered that even in the early days of their partnership he 
had frequently done this -- it was really the only physical contact they 
had ever had for a long time.  Well, excepting the hug she had given 
him during their first case when she had been so frightened, filled with 
a wordless fear over the discovery of three small, raised bumps on her 
back.  Mosquito bites, he had informed her just before she practically 
collapsed in his arms.  But he had never teased her about it until after 
they were married.

	He reached over her shoulder and opened the French doors.  
She waited as he turned to shut them behind him, then slid her hand 
into his.  They walked in silence in the moonlight for a few minutes.  
Mulder caught sight of a bench among the roses and smiled, then 
steered her in that direction.

	Neither of them saw Phoebe Greene standing behind a nearby 
tree.  She had escaped to the garden for some fresh air, but now she 
could not return to the house without passing them.  Cursing her luck, 
she held her breath and waited.

	When they reached the bench he sank to it, but before she 
could sit next to him he reached for her and pulled her into his lap 
sideways.  She laughed and curled her arms around his neck.

	He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.  
Phoebe began looking around for an alternate path to take.  There was 
none.  She sighed and settled back, watching.  From where she stood 
she could see Scully facing her, with Mulder's profile outlined in the 
silver of the moonlight.

	Scully stroked the back of his neck, the short hairs tickling her 
fingers, and waited.  She could tell he had something on his mind.  So 
did she.  But hers could wait, she thought with a faint smile.

	"Know what tonight is?" he finally asked in a soft voice.

	She put the tip of her index finger under his chin and lifted it 
so he would meet her gaze.  "How could I forget?  One year ago this 
evening you told me you loved me," she whispered.

	His smile sent shivers curling up her spine.  "And I asked 
you to marry me, and you said yes," he murmured.

	She leaned forward and kissed his nose.  "And *then* we went 
home and you told my mother I had asked *you*," she accused 
teasingly.

	His eyes laughed up into hers.  "Hey, a man's gotta have his 
fantasies."

	She chuckled throatily.  "Why didn't you tell me that was one 
of your fantasies, Fox?"

	His gaze dropped to her mouth but he said nothing.

	Her eyes were serious.  "Fox Mulder," she whispered, "I never 
told you -- but if you hadn't asked me, I *would* have asked you. . . ."

	His eyes went very wide.  "Really?"

	She bent and brushed his lips with hers.  "Mmm-hmm. . . ."

	He reached up and and slid his hand through her hair, pulling 
out the pins so that it cascaded through his fingers and around his face, 
then pulled her mouth down to his.  Phoebe watched as they shared 
a long, deep, erotic kiss, and swallowed hard.

	Finally Scully pulled away.  She kissed his nose once more 
and smiled at him.  He sighed and pulled her closer so that her cheek 
rested on the crown of his head.

	"This has been the happiest year of my life, Dana -- it's made 
up for a lot.  You have no idea."  Nearby, Phoebe grimaced, wondering 
if he was counting his time at Oxford among the unhappy times.  "I 
can't imagine ever being any happier than I am at this moment, right 
now, here with you."  

	"Oh, really?"  Phoebe could see Scully's mouth curve up in a 
gentle, secretive smile.  She watched, fascinated, as the younger 
woman slid one hand down to rest on the flat of her stomach.  "You're 
sure about that?"

	He tilted his head back to gaze up at her quizzically but she 
merely smiled and brushed a soft kiss against his mouth.  "Take me 
home, Fox," she said softly.

	Phoebe heard the swift intake of his breath.  He reached for 
Scully again and kissed her once, hard, then stood up with her in his 
arms.  He held her close for a moment before allowing her to slide 
down to stand in front of him.  She saw -- for she was watching for it -- 
the petite redhead smooth her dress down across her abdomen with 
that brief, caressing motion, and then the couple walked out of the 
garden with their arms around each other.

	Back in the garden Phoebe Greene sagged against the tree.  
Dana Scully was carrying Fox Mulder's child.  He was so happy, so 
in love with her, and he didn't even know about the baby yet.  What 
would their happiness be like then?  She swiped angrily at the 
sudden tears that blurred her vision.

	Would anyone ever love her that way?  Want to give her 
children?

	And then the next question.  Could *she* ever love that way, 
the way Scully obviously loved Mulder?  Was she even capable of it?

	She laughed sardonically -- at herself, although she tried to 
convince herself that she was laughing at the "ordinariness" of the 
life Dana Scully had chosen.  A husband, a family -- such was not 
her lot.

	She went back inside in search of the good Senator.  But 
when she looked at him, laughing and chatting with the new Director 
across the room, she was aware of a vague dissatisfaction.  Some of 
his sparkle had gone.  He seemed, somehow, a lttle *too* polished.  
She sighed and turned to the bartender.  "Scotch and soda -- double," 
she said.  As she sipped her drink she began scanning the partygoers 
for a new conquest.

*****
	Scully sat in front of the fireplace waiting for Mulder.  She 
turned as she heard the soft whisper of silk and smiled up at him.  
He was wearing the pajamas she had given him and that he had worn 
-- briefly -- on their wedding night.  HHe was also holding two flutes full 
of champagne.  He held one out to her.  She hesitated, then took it 
from him, and he sat down on the floor next to her.

	"To many more happy years," he said, clinking his glass 
against hers.  She smiled and nodded, but he frowned when she didn't 
drink.  "Not cold enough?" he asked.

	She bit her lip.  "Fox, we have to talk," she said quietly.  His 
face fell slightly.  "No, no -- it's okay."  She reached up and touched 
his face in reassurance.

	He took her glass, and his, and set them on the hearth.  
"What is it, love?" he asked softly.

	She smiled at him.  "You said earlier tonight that nothing could 
make you any happier," she said.

	He nodded seriously.  "I meant it," he said, concerned.

	"I -- hope not," she whispered.  He opened his mouth to speak 
but she laid her hand over his lips.  "No, don't say anything.  Fox," she
said softly, "I love you more than anything -- more than I ever would have 
thought possible."  He nodded.

	"I know.  And you know I do, too."

	She smiled again.  "I know," she agreed quietly, then paused.

	"What is it, Dana?"

	She looked up at him, this man she loved.  His eyes were 
quiet and steady on hers, his arm around her back.  The flickering 
firelight danced across his skin, reminding her again of their wedding 
night, almost a year ago now, yet so clear it seemed like yesterday.  
They had had a fire that night -- in this very fireplace, before the one 
they had lit in the bedroom.  The night he had come back to her after 
New Mexico -- there had been a fire then, too.  The night he had 
proposed.  And the night they had. . . . She smiled.  This was perfect, 
she thought.

	"Fox, we've talked about -- maybe someday -- about having 
children," she stammered.  He nodded.  "Well, I think we need to talk 
about it again.  Fox," she said softly, "we're going to have a baby."

	His eyes widened and his hands tightened on her shoulders.  
"Dana . . . ?"

	She nodded.  "I'm sure," she whispered.

	He just stared at her for a moment.  Then a wide smile of 
awe and joy split his face and he pulled her into his arms.  "Oh, 
Scully," he whispered against her hair.  She relaxed in his arms and 
smiled against his throat.  He was happy.  Her beloved Mulder was 
happy with her gift to him -- their gift to each other.

	Then she felt the warm wetness against her forehead and 
looked up.  Tears were streaming down his face.

	"Scully -- oh, Scully, I love you so much. . . ."  She smiled 
and kissed his cheeks, tasting the salt of his tears.  He pulled back 
a little and gazed down at her.  "When?" he asked.

	She smiled again.  "About Christmas, I think," she said softly.  
He grinned at her.

	"Oh, boy.  *What* a Christmas present!"

	"And if I know you -- and I do, Fox Mulder -- you will start 
spoiling this baby even before it is born. . . ."  He laughed and cut her 
off with a hard kiss.

	"You betcha," he grinned.

	She reached up and put her arms around his neck.  His 
mouth covered hers and he lowered her to the floor.  "I love you . . . I 
love our child. . . ."  His hand slid down to caress her stomach as he 
kissed her.  Then he pulled back and grinned at her.  "I've never made 
love to a pregnant woman before," he murmured seductively, wiggling 
one eyebrow at her.

	"Oh yes, you have.  Earlier this evening . . . and this morning 
. . . not to mention practically every night for the past month or so. . . ."

	He threw back his head and laughed.  "Okay, you're right.  
But I didn't know it at the time, so I *still* don't really know what it's 
like."

	She smiled and began plucking at the buttons on his pyjama 
top.  "Wanna find out?" she asked seductively.

	He bent over her.  "Thought you'd never ask," he whispered 
against her mouth.

*END*