Date: Sun, 28 Jan 1996 18:20:39 -0500 From: macspooky@erols.com Subject: Generations We're baaaaack. . . . Juliettt here, writing on behalf of Macspooky, my partner in crime. Wave to the nice fanfic readers, Mac. ::Mac waves:: Anyway, we've got another multi-parter for you, though it's not as long as "In-laws." It's the next part of the Generations series and it takes place in June, after Margaret's and Walter's wedding. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank Mac for allowing me to cowrite with her some more. It's fun to step into a fanfic universe that is at the same time more and less serious than my own. Thanks, Mac! ::Juliettt gives Mac a cyberhug.:: This story is very different from "In-laws" in that instead of writing whole chapters separately we worked on the whole thing together. As Mac said once, you should *see* the volume of mail between us. Probably longer than the story! Oh, and as promised, this one is also somewhat more upbeat than "In-laws," as well. Still rated "R" for adult situations, however. Ooops, almost forgot! Umm, as always, Dana Scully (Mulder), Fox Mulder, Margaret Scully (Skinner), and Walter Skinner belong to Chris Carter -- we're just borrowing them for purposes to which he would probably never put them and we mean no offense to him or Ten-Thirteen Productions or FOX Broadcasting or Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, Sheila Larken, and Mitch Pileggi. The McBrides and everybody else here that you've never seen on _The X-Files_ belong to Macspooky. I didn't "invent" anybody this time. In fact, most of the ideas found herein are hers. It was just my turn to write the disclaimer. . . .All comments can be sent to Juliettt@aol.com or Macspooky at cullinan@mail.erols.com Okay, that's it! We hope you enjoy! Juliettt and Macspooky December 31, 1995 "Ireland" Chapter One by Macspooky and Juliettt Special Agent Dana Scully sat on her partner's lower back wearing nothing but his white cotton t-shirt to keep the springtime chill coming in through the open windows off her fair skin. His shoulders were tense, too tense. She knew he was deeply worried about something and wanted to talk about it but didn't know how. With hands surprisingly strong for their small size, she rubbed some softly scented skin cream into his shoulder blades, kneading the muscles as she did so. Her partner and beloved husband had tried to make love to her that night, and for the first time since they had been married, he had failed seemingly for no reason. The once or twice it had happened after he had been shot on Martha's Vineyard could hardly be counted. It was a testimony to the miraculous power of their feelings for one another that he had been able to make love to her at all then, so severe had been his injuries. Now, Dana had to find a way to let him know that it was okay, that it didn't matter, that everyone had an off day. She had been kind of tired anyway. Perhaps it had been partially her fault. It was only one of many small clues that something was on his mind, however. Fox was so hard on himself sometimes, though, often making things difficult for her as well, and it wasn't always easy to get him to talk to her. "Does that feel good, Fox?" she asked softly, applying more lotion and continuing to knead. "Yeah," he muttered in disgust. He had wanted to make love to her so badly, to forget about the whole week. She'd been down at Quantico a lot substituting for a sick pathologist who had been teaching a class, leaving him to hold down the fort in his basement office in DC. It had gone from bad to worse, a week of doing stupid stakeouts and surveillance. Things were never the same when she was gone. Of course, there had also been the usual snide remarks about what Spooky might or might not be doing while the Ice Queen was away, etc., but he was accustomed to that. It wasn't that that was bothering him. They had been together at home at night, of course, but by the time they both dragged themselves in the door she was too tired from the long commute and he too disgruntled from the day's frustrations to talk much, let alone do anything more physically and emotionally demanding. It was just so -- unsettling not to have her within reach at all times, and he had laughed at himself more than once for having come to rely on her so heavily, each laugh followed with a sigh because he just *missed* her. And today everything had come to a head and he realized that it might be his former happiness that was temporary rather than the current situation. And it had upset him so badly that they could not take advantage of what time they did have together, and now he could not even talk about it. "Okay," she said slipping off of him and lying beside him, "what gives, Spookster?" "Obviously nothing," was his miserable reply. "I didn't mean that. I mean what's going on at work?" He turned on his side away from her, so she got up, moved to the other side of the bed, and weaseled her way into his arms, forcing him to move over and give her room. "I mean," she said softly, "what's her name?" "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, attempting to escape. He really wanted to be left alone to sulk about his inability to perform. He didn't want to tell her about what had happened at work. "I mean, if it has you this flustered, it's got to be about a woman." "Look, I don't want to talk about it. Okay?" "Okay," she replied, but she didn't let go of the arm she held wrapped around her body. "Night, Spook. I love you." She had given in much too easily. That worried him, and annoyed him. "Night," he replied, but he began to grow restless. Why hadn't she continued to nag? Isn't that what she would normally have done? Jeez, he wished she wouldn't press so closely against him. She smelled nice. The closeness was doing things to him, making his failure all the more dismal. To make matters worse, he was now on the "wrong" side of the bed. Then, he realized he had forgotten to cover Krycek's cage which meant the damn parrot would probably talk all night long. He would never get any sleep, but he felt too lazy to get up and do anything about it. She was snuggling even closer. "Oh, jeez," he muttered moving away slightly and turning her on her back and moving to his side once again. "You are impossible, Scully. . . ." She expected him simply to take her right then. She could tell that, whatever his physical difficulties had been earlier, he had overcome them, due in part, no doubt, to her deliberate displays of affection. And she wouldn't have minded in the least. But although sex was a wonderful part of their marriage, he knew that for his own sake as well as for hers they had to clear the air between them before making love. He never wanted things to go back to the way they had been at Christmastime. He never wanted to be that blind to her again. Physical intimacy was important, but their psychological and emotional connection was essential. He tried to sit up but she firmly pressed him back down against the mattress, face down. His shoulders were still so tense, the muscles like hard knots beneath her fingers. And whatever it was that was bothering him, he might find it easier to tell her if he didn't have to look her in the eyes. That was okay, so long as he told her. They were still working on the complete trust that exemplified their partnership and marriage. It would be an ongoing process, she knew. He sighed, half in frustration, half in pleasure as her small but strong hands carefully worked on his shoulders and back once again. She purposefully kept her hands high so that he would not get -- distracted. "It's Skinner's replacement," he finally admitted. "Agent Davis?" He nodded and she moved to his neck. "What about her?" "She called me in today. Really reamed me out over the last batch of paperwork." "So? Skinner reams you out all the time." "Yeah, but he's usually right, Scully. And he *usually* confines his complaints to the current problem." "And I take it she didn't." He snorted. "She cited chapter and verse on everything I've ever done wrong. . . ." "Must've taken all afternoon," Scully joked, but repented immediately when he didn't join in her laughter. Mulder himself was so sardonic about his position within the Bureau that at times she forgot how much it must hurt him. "I'm sorry, Spook," she said softly. "That's pretty awful." He took a deep breath and went on. "That's not the worst of it. *Then* she said that if it were up to her -- and it might be someday soon -- I would be out of the Bureau for good because my 'mentor' wouldn't be able to help me any more." Scully paused in her stroking of his shoulders for a moment until he shrugged them slightly, mutely urging her to continue. She smiled a little at his back and resumed her slow, deep massage. "Wonder what she meant by that?" He shook his head slightly. "Sounds to me like she's gunning for Skinner's job." She frowned. "Wonder what makes her think she's got a shot at it? I mean, he's only gone on his honeymoon -- it's not like he's been suspended or anything." she thought. "Naah, that's our department, Shorts," he said, eliciting a laugh from her. "What?" "Nothing. Go on." "Well, I just didn't like the way she said it. Skinner's got a lot more clout since New Mexico, but something just doesn't add up. Oh, and another thing -- the office reeked of smoke." Scully sighed. Cancerman again. She bent and pressed her lips to Mulder's bare shoulder, sensing that he had not yet told her everything. In fact, if anything his shoulders seemed to grow even more tense. "What else, Spook?" she asked softly. He stiffened and started to retort "isn't that enough?" then slumped in defeat. She would get it out of him eventually -- she always did. And they had promised not to hide anything from one another anymore. And this affected her as well. "After she was finished with me I went to the Memorial to eat lunch." Scully nodded. He had done this frequently, especially in the early days of their partnership, and still took refuge there when she could not join him for lunch. He hesitated, then continued. "After a few minutes she came and sat next to me." "Who, Davis?" Dana asked in disbelief. "Yep. Suddenly she was all -- friendly," he continued. "Friendly how?" she asked, curious. "Friendly friendly. *Too* friendly. Kind of like . . . like she was. . . ." He paused, then sighed. "Scully, I think she was coming on to me -- OUCH!" "Sorry," she said automatically. She had pinched him just a little too hard. "What did she do?" "Do? She didn't really *do* anything," he said sarcastically. "Just sat down and started eating her lunch. I was so surprised I didn't know *what* to say. Then she started talking." He paused again and she waited for him to continue. After a moment, he did. "She said it was awfully nice that our marriage hadn't precluded our working together, as some Assistant Directors wouldn't have felt so comfortable having two agents -- especially two agents who had been partnered -- involved with one another. She hinted that Skinner had done it as a favor to your mother." "That's ridiculous!" Dana sputtered. "If anything, Skinner's gone out of his way to be harder on us so nobody can accuse him -- *or* us -- of favoritism! And our solve rate has actually gone *up* since we were married!" "I know, Short Stuff," he soothed. "And I think everyone else knows it, too -- it's just her way of trying to get to me." "So, what else did she say?" He hesitated again. Scully wasn't going to like this. "She said that if anything ever happened to Skinner -- those were her exact words, too, 'happened to Skinner' -- the new A.D. might not see things the same way. We might be reassigned -- both of us. I told her that our division needed a trained pathologist. She pointed out that there is a shortage of field agents in Violent Crimes and that it was entirely possible a new A.D. might find it necessary to assign a less highly qualified agent to pathology to 'free up existing personnel with more experience.'" Dana thought with a sudden thrill of anger. What a manipulative, conniving little . . . . Monica Davis obviously knew just what she was doing, threatening not only the future of the integrity of the X-Files' forensic evidence, but possibly Scully's personal safety as well. Being stuck down at Quantico as she had been for the last week was bad enough -- and suddenly she wondered just how much acting A.D. Davis had had to do with that little arrangement -- but Scully would *not* want to go into the field with anybody else but Mulder, no matter how seasoned, watching her back. They were far more effective together than they were on their own, which was why they had been allowed to remain together. She wondered just how long either of them would last anymore without the other; not that they couldn't take care of themselves, but with the absolute trust that Mulder was covering her she was able to throw herself into field work with an intensity she never safely could have without him, and she knew he felt the same way. Mulder went on. Might as well tell her everything. "Then she said that I might do 'well' -- again, her words, not mine -- to 'cooperate' with my new boss -- should this come to pass. Her tone left no doubt that she believed it would. She said I should consider making myself 'personally available' instead of shutting myself off in my own world and that she trusted I would be willing to 'work with her' -- oh, by this point there was no pretending that there might be anybody else in question -- during the transition." "Hmmm. So she didn't say anything, I don't know -- explicit?" "You mean, did she try to tear my clothes off on the steps of the Memorial? Tell me to meet her at the Motel Six for a quickie after work? No, Scully. . . . But if you could have seen the way she was *looking* at me. . . . Plus she had let her hair down and she must have put on some perfume or something, and more makeup. And she was doing -- that *thing* women do with their hair when they're coming onto a guy." "What 'thing' with their hair?" "You know. That -- thing, where you curl a lock of your hair around your finger and kind of play with it near your mouth." Scully's eyebrows lifted. "You know -- you did it to me all the time before we were married." "*Me*!" "Yes, you. Don't tell me you didn't know you were doing it." "I never!" "Oh, yes, you did," he insisted, sitting up to face her. "You would sit there reading files and you would start playing with your hair, like this." He slid his fingers through the long strands of red hair near her cheek and began winding it around one long forefinger. Then he placed the tip of his finger against her lips. "You used to drive me nuts, doing that," he said, his voice a whisper now. "I'd look up from the driest, dullest case file and catch you doing that and I couldn't help but stare. And then I'd just hope you didn't catch me watching you." "Then what happened?" she asked, her own voice low and rough. She found the course of this conversation deeply disturbing. Monica Davis was their immediate supervisor. Her position -- temporary as it was -- made her a formidable enemy indeed. Had she become obsessed with Mulder? The thought was frightening. "Wha? Oh -- Davis," he said after a moment of confusion. She smiled, thrilled that he had been so distracted that he had forgotten what he was going to say. She knew he would never -- *never* -- cheat on her, but it still made her happy that she was able to have this effect upon him. It felt good to know that the feeling was mutual. . . . "I looked her right in the eye to let her know I knew what was going on." He grinned suddenly. "And then I told her that my wife was already almost more woman than I could handle and I had neither the energy nor the desire even to consider an affair." "You didn't!" He laughed. "No, I didn't," he admitted. "What I *really* said was that my wife -- my *partner* -- and I didn't cheat on one another and that I loved her too much to let anything -- even my career -- get in the way of our marriage," he said quietly. Her eyes glowed, and then she sighed. "They could use that against us, you know." "They already know it's true," he said, hugging her, "and it gave me great satisfaction to say it to her face." She grinned and he bent to kiss her, his anxiety -- and the physical manifestation thereof -- forgotten. She pushed him back onto the bed again. "Hey, Scully?" he whispered as she bent to kiss him. "What?" "What I said before -- what I *didn't* say to Davis -- that's true, too." This provoked one of her most beautiful smiles, the ones that started at the corners of her lips and spread across her entire face, finishing in her eyes. Then she bent over him once more and he forgot Davis, he forgot the Bureau, he forgot everything except this woman who was his partner and his partner in life, whom he loved more than life itself. . . . " Does that feel good, Fox . . . does that feel good, Fox. . . ." She pulled away and they stared at each other momentarily, then burst out laughing. "*Why* does that bird *always* seem to pick up on phrases that can be used as double entendres?" she mused. He shook his head and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I dunno. But we're going to have to do something about it. . . . Maybe you *should* cook him for dinner." She gaped at him. "What?!" He grinned. "Well, if we gave him away he might give away . . . secrets." She collapsed against him, laughing helplessly. "I never thought I'd live to see the day I'd long to hear him say a simple, 'Help! Murder!'" " Help! Murder! Up and at 'er, Mulder. . . . Open your legs, Scully. . . . Open your legs, Scully. . . . Does that feel good, Fox. . . ." Now he was laughing, too. "Geez, this is like color commentary. . . ." She giggled. "Good thing you didn't have Krycek while you were still watching those tapes. . . ." He groaned. "No kidding. Our neighbors would think I was having an affair or something." " Go ahead -- rip 'em off me, Fox. . . . Does that feel good. . . ." "SHUT UP!" he yelled finally over Dana's giggles. "Actually. . . ." "Not this time, Mulder," she said solemnly. He frowned, puzzled, and then he saw what she meant. . . . He had forgotten she wasn't wearing anything to rip off, purple or otherwise. ***** "So what are you going to do about Davis?" Dana asked quietly much later. He sighed and pulled her more fully into his embrace. "I don't know. I've made it pretty plain to her how I feel. I'm hoping she'll drop it, but somehow I don't think so." That afternoon the acting A.D. had *not* seemed too happy when, after delivering his little speech on marital fidelity, Mulder had gotten up from his seat and stalked back towards the J. Edgar Hoover Building. And that very afternoon Violent Crimes had sent him a file on a serial killer who needed to be profiled. He knew it was her way of getting in the last word and informing him that she meant business. She didn't dare do anything to Scully yet, but she could make him worry and distract him from his own work by keeping him busy with external matters. "Do you think she knows something about Skinner we don't know?" He shook his head. "I doubt it. Well, maybe more than *we* know, but not more than he does. And if I know Skinner, as much as he loves your mother he wouldn't leave if he knew there was a major shakeup in the works." "Maybe he doesn't know." He shrugged. "It's possible. He really ticked off some folks over the DAT tape. I just don't know." "Please, Fox," she said softly, "please just be careful, okay?" He nodded and kissed the top of her head. "I would never do anything to put you in danger, Dana," he whispered. "Never again." She nodded against his chest. "I know." "I love you, Dana," he whispered. She smiled and opened her mouth to respond when the phone rang. He rolled over and fumbled with it, knocking it off onto the floor. It just *had* to be. . . . "Hello, Melissa." A pause. Then, "Fox?" "Oh. Hi, mom. Sorry -- every time Melissa calls I knock the phone off the hook, so . . . never mind." His mind churned. Wait a minute. "Are you in Ireland?" "Yes. Is -- is Dana there?" Something was wrong. "Mom? Is everything okay?" Silence. "Gran's -- really sick, Fox," she said softly. His eyes closed. He really liked Gran McBride, Dana's grandmother. She had told him to marry Dana, and she believed in extra-terrestrials, too -- "little gray banshees," she called them. He turned and handed the phone to his wife. "It's your mother." Her eyes met his fearfully for a moment as she took the receiver from his hand. "Mom?" Her eyes followed Fox as he slid out of bed and left the room. She heard a quiet as he picked up the cordless phone in the other room. "" Oh, no -- not now. . . . There was the sound of muttering -- what sounded like mingled curses and threats, and then Mulder joined her in the bedroom and shut the door. "Dana, sweetheart, it's Gran." Her eyes went wide. "Oh, Mom -- is she. . . ?" "No, darling, she's still alive, but her heart is getting weaker. She has trouble walking and is short of breath. The doctors -- they don't think it will be very long. The thing is, Sweety, she keeps asking for you and Fox. She keeps saying that young Wolf promised to come so she could show him where Brendan was taken by the banshees. I know it sounds crazy, Dana, but it's, she's . . . breaking my heart." "No, no, Mom, it doesn't sound crazy at all." Dana's eyes filled with tears and Fox, now seated on the bed beside her, slid his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. She and her grandmother had always been very close. He too had come to love the old woman, and he knew she loved him. Suddenly he had an idea. "Mom? Could you put Skinner on the phone?" he asked preemptorily. Dana stared at him. This was a transatlantic call -- what was he up to? There was a muffled sound as of two voices conferring very low, and then his boss's -- his stepfather-in-law's -- strident tones, somewhat softened with worry and perhaps sorrow. "Hello?" "Sir." He carefully kept his voice deferential. "I want to ask you a favor." "What is it, Mulder?" he sighed. He was not in the mood to deal with one of Mulder's outlandish requests at this moment. He was on his honeymoon, with the woman he loved, and her mother was dying. What next? "I want to take some personal time. We're coming to Ireland," he said firmly. Dana gasped and turned to look at him, her eyes round. If it hadn't been such a serious situation he would have found it funny -- and adorable. There was another momentary silence, then he heard Skinner speaking in a low voice to Margaret, evidently explaining what her son-in-law had just said. When the A.D. returned to the phone his relief and -- gratitude? -- was palpable. *End Chapter One* =========================================================================== "Ireland" Chapter Two by Macspooky and Juliettt The sun streamed in through the windows, boring relentlessly into his eyelids until he woke up. He blinked, then his eyes went wide. "DAMN!" he shouted, sitting up in bed. "Wha's the matter, Spook?" she mumbled sleepily. "The alarm clock didn't go off! We overslept!" he shouted, throwing back the covers. "We're going to be late to work -- oh, damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!" He picked up the clock radio and shook it. "I could've sworn I set this thing. . . ." She grinned at him momentarily. "Maybe it's a conspiracy and somebody snuck in here while we were asleep." He scowled at her. It was too early for her to start making fun of his theories, and today was going to be a busy day even though they were only going to the office for a few hours. They had to arrange their leave time, make travel arrangements, pack, take Krycek to Mrs. Anderson's. . . . Then he grinned back. He wasn't mad at her -- not really. Last night he had been reminded yet again that instead of Fox Mulder against the world he had a wonderful wife and lover and partner and best friend to stand with him. "Or maybe Monica Davis snuck in while we *weren't* sleeping to see what she was missing out on," he teased, waggling his eyebrows. He was rewarded with a pillow against the back of his head. She hopped out of bed and hurried across the room to the closet. She began rummaging and then remembered, and sighed. "Great." "What's wrong?" he asked, throwing a suit, shirt, and tie onto the bed. "My favorite suit's still at the cleaner's, not to mention a lot of the rest of my wardrobe." She didn't add that it had really been his turn to pick up the dry cleaning that week. "I had to do those extra autopsies yesterday and never got lunch. . . ." She trailed off, suddenly aware that she had made a big mistake. "What extra autopsies?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. "Oh, it was no big deal," she hastened to explain. "I was finishing up a lecture just before lunchtime when an emergency order came in for reports on two bodies -- it was really routine," she finished inadequately. "Who sent in the orders?" he demanded. "Ummm -- Davis," she admitted softly. At the look of rage on his face she began trying to calm him down. "Fox -- look. It was no big deal, really. Just a couple of bodies -- it was probably a coincidence. . . ." "Was it?" "No," she admitted. "There was no evidence of foul play -- a vagrant with cirrhosis of the liver and an addict who o.d.'ed on heroin." Mulder gritted his teeth and she laid a calming hand on his arm. "Fox -- don't. Look, Skinner will be back in a couple of weeks. Let's just play it cool, okay? She hasn't really done anything we can prove yet. Let's try to play it by the book for now -- think of it as a wedding present." "We already gave them a wedding present, *plus* that teddy that I would swear Skinner smuggled out of here in his coat pocket." She giggled a little at this and he relaxed in memory of the night Skinner and Margaret had stopped by unexpectedly right after The Great Teddy Fiasco. It *was* pretty funny. "Okay, Shorts," he said, slipping his arms around her. "I promise to be good." "Fox, if you promise just to *try* to be good I'll feel a lot better." At his playful pout she grinned and selected another suit. She would *have* to remember to go by the dry cleaner's on the way home. At this rate she would run out of clothes before the end of the week. That would have been fine during their honeymoon, but. . . . "Tell you what," Fox whispered into her hair, "we've got less than an hour before we have to be at work. If we share a shower we can cut our bathing time in half." "Fox Mulder," she informed him sternly, "you know good and well that if we share a shower we will more than *triple* our normal bathing time, and we can't afford to be late, today of all days." "Hey, I promised to be good," he protested. "Okay, to *try* to be good," he amended, seeing the look on her face. "I never said it was *you* I was worried about, Wolf," she said softly. She closed the door to the bathroom, leaving him staring blankly after her with his jaw hanging and a shoe in either hand. ***** They were only a little bit late for work. When Fox had finally snapped his mouth shut and joined Dana in the shower, he had made her behave. Well, he had *tried* to make her behave, sort of, at first. . . . Anyway, he didn't particularly like the thought of sending Scully to see Acting Assistant Director Davis alone. It wouldn't have looked good for the temporary AD to have been turned into mincemeat while Skinner was on vacation, so Fox headed up to the office himself, admonishing Dana to finish up some last minute paper work while he dealt with the kiss of the Spider Woman. He approached Skinner's Administrative Assistant of many years. Fortunately, the woman liked him. He seemed to bring out some sort of maternal feeling in her, which was good. If one wanted access to the boss, it was best to be in the good graces of the secretary. She didn't look particularly happy, however. "Hi," he said, "you are looking lovely today." He gave her his boyish grin. "Whatever it is you want, Mulder," she replied, returning his smile, "I guarantee you aren't going to get it." She gave the AD's door a scathing look. Then she grinned suddenly. "Unless, of course," she whispered, "you give the *acting* AD what she wants, but I know you have more sense." "Sheesh, is there anything you don't know?" Mulder laughed. How, he wondered, had this woman got wind of the fact that Davis had the hots for him? Intuition, perhaps. He'd ask Scully later. "Hey, I'm the eye in FBI. Now, what do you need?" thought Fox. "I need to talk to her." Angela got on the intercom and was rudely informed that the AD was not seeing anyone. "Bitch," she muttered. Mulder grinned. "My sentiments exactly." He hesitated for a moment, considering how to get what he wanted as quickly as possible. Then he walked over to the door and put his face close to it. "Okay, well, you tell the AD," he said in his loudest voice, "that Agent Scully and I are taking some emergency leave and will be back in a few weeks. Bye. . . ." The door opened suddenly and Monica Davis appeared, her eyes furious. "Get in here, Agent Mulder," she demanded, taking her seat behind Skinner's desk which she had rearranged. She left him standing. "What is this about emergency leave?" "We got a call from Assistant Director Skinner last night. Dana's grandmother is dying. We are going to Ireland." Mulder didn't ask, he told. He made certain he had the smirk on his face that he reserved especially for Cancerman. He felt suddenly glad that he was a wealthy man, as ironic as the situation was. "I think not, Agent Mulder. No one has died. There will be no emergency leave for you or Agent Scully." The woman smiled smugly at him, certain of her power. If Mulder wanted to play games, then she would play them too. "Oh, I think so, Ms. Davis," he replied, "Agent Scully didn't take any time off when her father died. She didn't take any time off after her abduction, either. The Bureau owes me so much time that accounting can barely keep track of it. You can't deny us leave." "That is 'Assistant Director Davis' to you, Mulder. Don't forget who is in control here." "Oh, I never forget who is in control," he replied. She looked him up and down and liked what she saw -- tall and lanky but with nice shoulders. She even liked his tie. And playing games with him was fun. She didn't doubt for a moment that she would eventually get him in her grasp. She had seen Dana Scully and wasn't overly impressed. "Of course, I could arrange a leave for you if you were to promise to be a bit more -- *cooperative* -- in the future," she informed him carefully. For just a moment he was tempted. He wouldn't have to *do* anything. Heck, he wouldn't even have to *promise* anything, just participate in one of his deliberately misleading campaigns of misinformation, and they would be out of there with no difficulties. She was being evasive, he could be evasive. He recognized the look in her eyes. She was being so very careful not to say anything which would incriminate her if she were overheard, but the implicit blackmail was obvious to him. She was testing him, he knew. And, strangely, it was almost like looking at Phoebe Green, with her sly comments and ulterior motives. He had been burned by this breed of woman before. The difference this time was that, having experienced Phoebe, he would know just how to handle this one when they were alone. If he were not a married man. The thought that he was *not* alone anymore, that Acting Assistant Director Angela Davis had every reason to be jealous of Dana Katherine Scully Mulder, made him smile. Her breath caught as his face transformed yet again -- this time into the face of Fox Mulder, husband. He saw in his mind Scully's fearlessly truthful blue eyes, and they gave him courage. His face as he turned it to her seemed to her more handsome than ever with the light of his love for his wife shining there. "And ruin my reputation?" he scoffed finally. "I don't think so. I wouldn't want to disappoint my *superiors*." It occurred to him that he thought he smelled cigarette smoke, but that was probably just his paranoia. "Is something funny, Agent Mulder?" she inquired frostily. Damn. Why was it that the faithful ones were always already taken? She was beginning to rethink her position on Dana Scully. Well, if she couldn't have him -- and she most certainly was *not* giving up yet -- she could make him miserable. "Yes, Ms. Davis. My bank accounts in the Caymen Islands make me very happy. Agent Scully and I are taking emergency leave." "That will be considered insubordination, Agent Mulder. You know what that implies." "If you wish to have us both brought up before a disciplinary hearing, that is your prerogative as Acting AD, of course." He emphasized the word "acting". "If you wish to suspend us here and now, that too is your choice. But make no mistake: we *are* taking emergency leave." Mulder got to his feet. He smiled at Monica Davis. It was his most beautiful grin. He turned to leave, and as he reached the door, he turned around and said goodbye to her in Navajo as Albert Hosteen had taught him to do, loudly enough so anyone waiting outside the other entrance could hear. It was just a precaution. Then he said good-bye to the Administrative Assistant. Who knew? Maybe Davis would pull it off. Maybe she would get them both fired. She had certainly looked livid enough as he had closed the door. If she did, it would probably be the best thing that could happen to Skinner, he thought with amusement -- would save the man a lot of aggravation. He wasn't sure how Scully would feel about it, but he knew she would back him up. For some reason, he didn't really care at that moment about his job. He had acted first without thinking, he realized, but he just wanted to go to Ireland and see Gran. He wanted his wife to see her grandmother one last time. The rest would take care of itself later. Having made that decision Fox headed down to his office to finalize the travel arrangements. They made a rushed stop at the drycleaners to pick up their clothes and headed home to finish packing, and on the way there he told Dana about his confrontation with Davis. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about it. On the one hand, she was proud of him. On the other, she liked her job and was afraid of losing it -- of losing *him* as her partner if leaving the FBI meant they could no longer work together. And so, while a part of her congratulated him on handling the situation so well, another part of her knew him well. He didn't always think things through. If Davis were successful in getting them fired, and it seemed from his account of her response that that was a distinct possibility, they would no longer have the Bureau's resources available to seek the answers that they so desperately wanted, including the resources needed in their ongoing search for Samantha. They had money, of course, but because of their positions within the Bureau they had contacts, equipment, records. . . . When this occurred to him, and it would, it was going to hit him hard and he might not be quite so smug. As usual, there would be an ax hanging over their heads. She supposed one day she would get used to it. "Do you think I did the right thing, Dana?" he asked suddenly. "I mean. . . ." "Fox, I think you did what you had to do under the circumstances," she replied, patting his thigh as they drove up to their apartment. "Only time will tell. We just have to get through one day at a time, okay? We'll cross what bridges we have to when we come to them." "I love you, Shorts," he replied softly. Telling Davis off in the way he had had felt good when it was happening, but now he had started thinking about his search for Samantha. And Scully -- what had possessed him to think he could make a decision that would affect both of them, even if she *did* back him up? His euphoria was fading fast. They opened the door to the apartment. "Help, murder! Help, murder! Goddamn it, Dana, goddamn it, Dana, goddamn it, Dana, open your legs, Scully." They looked at one another and rolled their eyes. "Someone is going to have to take Krycek to Mrs. Anderson's," Fox said sheepishly. "Worse yet, one of us is going to have to pick him up," his wife replied, "after that good church-going woman hears what he has to say." "Uh . . . he's your bird, Dana. . . ." "Only because you bought him for me . . . besides, he hates me," she replied. "I'll flip you for it. . . ." "Using my quarter," she put in hastily. She knew he had a trick one someplace -- she had figured that out when his lucky streak began to defy all rules of probability. He just didn't know how to use it with discretion. Marriage to Fox had taught her some things, and she had acquired her own trick quarter, but she was much more discreet and saved hers for when it really mattered. Like right now. Somehow, however, it didn't quite work. She still ended up with the job of picking up Krycek when they returned from their trip. Mulder was better than she had thought. He must have switched quarters on her one day. Unfortunately, she couldn't prove it, and it would have been pointless, anyway, to accuse him of cheating her out of her opportunity to cheat him. She wished he thought so far ahead all the time. She finished packing up the last of their things while Mulder took the bird cage down the hall. "Hey, pretty lady," the bird promptly said as Mrs. Anderson opened the door. It was all he could do to keep from strangling it right then and there. The stupid bird had resisted all his efforts to get it to call Dana "pretty lady," insisting instead on constantly offending her with its insults and bawdy commentary on their love life. He was beginning, he decided, to have a love/hate relationship with Dana's pet. He admitted -- to himself, at least -- that it *was* beginning to remind him of Phoebe, as Scully had always insisted. Or perhaps it was a bit more like Monica Davis. Resisting the temptation to ask Mrs. Anderson if she were really certain it was a male, he handed her the cage. The woman did know her parrots, after all, but after two weeks with Krycek the radiant smile she had displayed when it said "Hey, pretty lady" might well be replaced by a look of offended shock and a bird in her oven. She might rue the day she had ever bred the thing. She wouldn't be the first. He said his goodbyes and returned to their apartment, glad that *that* was out of the way. Dana, he reflected in satisfaction, would have the dubious honor of picking Krycek up after their return. He didn't envy her that task at all. *End Chapter Two* =========================================================================== All disclaimers still apply. "Ireland" Chapter Three by Macspooky and Juliettt That had all been hours ago. The interim had been filled with all the last-minute details that seemed so insignificant when you were planning your time but so time-consuming when you actually set about doing them: stopping the mail, the paper, calling a few friends to let them know they would be out of the country, throwing away perishable foods. . . . But at last everything had been done and they had hurried to the airport and checked their bags. Now they were seated in the airport terminal, waiting for their plane to board. First the stewardess called for couples with small children. He watched Dana's eyes as she watched them, young men and women with babies in their arms, families with tiny children in Osh Kosh overalls, laden down with diaper bags and stuffed toys. She closed her eyes and he could feel her pain as palpably as his own, knowing it must be worse for her, knowing that had all gone as planned she would be showing now, feeling their baby kicking and moving inside of her instead of the dull, dead emptiness that was a constant reminder of their loss. He remembered the family pictures they had taken over Christmas, back when their joy was still new and full, and thought of the portraits they would take in the future. Wondered if the blank spot would always stare back at him accusingly. Wondering if he would ever be a father, if he would ever get to see Dana nursing their baby, ever get to hold the tiny sweet- smelling person in his arms. Wondering when -- if -- that horrible pain in her eyes would ever go away, replaced by that softness he had learned to recognize in the face of a new mother. He slid an arm around her and hugged her close. She huddled against him, burying her face in his shoulder, and shook a little. He didn't know -- and she would not tell him -- that she had gone to the doctor on her own to see if there was anything the matter with her. They still didn't know what had been wrong with their baby, why she had been unable to carry it to term. And the fact that they had been unable to get pregnant since then scared and saddened her. Was there something physically wrong with her? Was that why -- or had something gone wrong when they had done the medical procedures on her after the miscarriage? Dana knew that was unfair; Amy had been very careful and would hav told her had there been a mistake, but still she was afraid. But there had been nothing wrong. Nothing that they could find, anyway. Nothing to lessen the ache of her empty arms and womb or the pain in her heart. Nothing to give her any hope. Just -- nothing. But she still had Fox. She would always, always have Fox, she knew, snuggling a little closer. During those awful days at Martha's Vineyard she had thought he would be taken away from her, too. But he hadn't. And he had promised they would keep trying. She smiled a little. They *had* kept trying; even when it wasn't the right time in her cycle they "worked at it," as he said with a grin. They were very, very good at trying. She heard the stewardess's voice again and then Fox was pulling away from her and standing up. He offered her his hand and she stood as well. He leaned down and looked into her eyes. They were sorrowful but clear. "All right now?" he asked gently, and she nodded. He bent and kissed her softly, then whispered in her ear. "I love you, Dana." She smiled at him and squeezed his hand as he led her toward the boarding ramp. She looked around. Most of the passengers were still seated. Only a few, businessmen and women from the looks of it, were ahead of them in the short line. The stewardess lifted her microphone again. "Once again, now preboarding all first-class passengers on flight 773 to London. . . ." Dana stopped in her tracks, tugging on her husband's hand. He looked back and down at her. "Fox. *Fox*," she said insistently. "What is it?" "They're boarding first class now," she said patiently. Please, oh, please don't let him embarrass her. . . . "I know," he said with a smile, and pulled her gently forward. Her mouth dropped open but he simply twinkled at her and handed the two first-class tickets to the stewardess. Stunned, she followed him as they were waved on down the ramp. "Fox," she began as they walked hand-in-hand toward the plane. "I had a whole lot of frequent-flyer miles, Dana," he explained. "And besides. After all those redeyes in puddle-jumpers I thought we deserved a little luxury." "Fox." He looked down at her. "We don't get frequent-flyer miles on government flights." He nodded, admitting that she was right. "You couldn't possibly have had enough frequent-flyer miles for an extra pack of peanuts, much less. . . ." "So what?" he shrugged. "We're saving all of my rent and, since it seems I need to keep reminding you, we are rich. Let me pamper you a little now and then." His voice was firm but his eyes sparkled and smiled at her. "Okay," she finally agreed, and then his lips smiled as well. She felt a little nervous stopping in the front cabin where there were only two seats -- huge seats -- on either side of the aisle. Leather seats, she noticed in shock. With plenty of leg room, she mentally added, eyeing her husband's long legs with a smirk. He gave her the window seat and leaned up to put their carry-ons in the overhead bin as she got herself settled. She sank down into the soft leather with a sigh. As small as she was even she found airplane seats uncomfortable. But this -- this was heavenly! Even more comfortable than their recliner at home. The recliner in which, of course, she rarely ever got to sit anymore. Fox settled down next to her and took her hand with a smile. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a steward who came to hover over Mulder's shoulder. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked. Fox looked over at her. "Just -- some hot tea for now," she said. He nodded. The steward made a mental note but paused before hurrying off again. "On your honeymoon?" he asked with a half-smile, his eyes flitting over the pair. Dana opened her mouth to demur but Fox beat her to it. "Yes," he said with a smile, curling his hand more tightly around hers. The steward allowed his gaze to drift over her hair and face again and she blushed slightly, seeing the frank admiration in his eyes and the look of envy and approval he gave Mulder before smiling again. "So -- maybe some champagne later?" Fox asked her, and she nodded. The steward nodded as well and disappeared. "Fox, he thinks we're newlyweds," she rebuked him when they were alone again. "So what?" he asked. "I feel like one -- and we haven't been married very long -- and this is a honeymoon of sorts, although," he said softly, "I wish we were going overseas under any other circumstances. I'm sorry, sweetheart -- I hope we find Gran in better health." She nodded. "Me, too." The steward returned with their drinks just as the first wave of coach passengers began to board, and smiled at her again. For the first time in her life she felt the scrutiny and envy of others' eyes as they passed her on the way back to their narrow cloth seats beyond the curtain. More than once she squirmed uncomfortably as a passenger raked his or her eyes over the two of them knowingly or a man -- on his own or with a woman -- allowed his eyes to light up when she met his gaze, smiled at her, and gave her husband an implied "thumbs-up." She was not used to strange men -- many men at all -- flirting with her. Fox, however, seemed to be enjoying himself, and leaned over and kissed her in full view of one man who allowed his eyes to linger too long. "Enjoying the attention?" he whispered into her hair. "No," she mumbled. "You should be," he said quietly. "You're the most beautiful woman on this plane. They're just acknowledging that fact." "What they're acknowledging, Fox, is that we are in First Class and they have to sit in coach," she said, but her voice didn't sound convinced. He laughed a little and shook his head. "The men are noticing how lovely you are and how lucky I am. The women are looking daggers at you, wondering if that could possibly be your real hair color. Shall I tell them it is?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. She blushed slightly but sat a little straighter and the next time a male passenger smiled at her she smiled back. The woman directly in front of him, evidently his wife, stepped back on his foot, causing him to yelp faintly and avert his gaze. Fox snickered. "I don't mind their looking, but you're all mine," he whispered and she leaned over to kiss him, this time. "Always," she whispered back. ***** The takeoff was uneventful, although she usually found it rather startling to get up to what seemed an impossible speed and then the sickening lurch as the plane left terra firma. For years she had listened to a Mozart cassette to calm her jumpy stomach, but now she had Fox's hand to hold. If he thought she clutched it just a little hard there at the beginning he didn't let on, only grasped her hand tightly in his and smiled reassuringly at her. Once in the air, as always, she relaxed, and turned to look out the window. Mulder leaned over her and they watched the sea drift by beneath them. Flying over the ocean was never as interesting as flying over land, because there were few features to the seemingly smooth water below. Now and then, however, they caught the dot of an island and once Fox swore he saw a ship. Before long they settled back and turned their attention to the other passengers in the cabin. Businessmen and women, mostly, with laptop computers that they plugged into outlets on the seatbacks in front of them. She shook her head. "What?" he asked. "Just -- seems like such a waste," she said. "All this luxury," here she traced the pattern in the grain of the leather seat beside her right thigh," and they don't even take the time to enjoy it." He shrugged. "I guess they've come to expect it." She sighed. "I just keep thinking about some of those flights we've made -- all the times we had to rush back without even a halfway decent night's sleep, and how much a comfortable seat on the plane would have meant to us." On some of those redeye flights when the cabin had been mostly empty they had taken the opportunity to stretch out across the vacant seats and snatch a few minutes' sleep. He nodded. "A pleasure all the greater for being deferred," he agreed, and she smiled. The intercom crackled slightly and then a soft voice intoned that the in-flight movie would be showing soon, and that headphones were available for anyone who wanted them. She flipped open the airplane magazine and showed him the day's selection: _The Mask_. Neither of them had seen it, and she knew only that it was a comedy. He shrugged and flagged down the stewardess and told her they would take two sets of headphones. Before long the movie started. She glanced around. The suits were all busy tapping away at their keyboards. She shrugged. Well, at any other time she would be as well, no doubt. They watched in silence for awhile. The plot was somewhat predictable: shy geek allows the world to step on him but at night has visions of the things he could have said and done had he had the courage. Geek plays hero, attempting to save drowning man. Geek discovers bridge jumper was actually a mask and bemoans his continual mistakes and inability to fit into the world. As experiment geek tries on mask and VOILA! Geek becomes ultra-cool, ultra-hip Mask, the object of attraction and envy and attention, for the first time in his life. The mask does not really change his personality, it simply gives him something behind which to hide so that he has the courage to be himself. Some of the actor's very mobile facial expressions were kind of funny, and she smiled, then turned to Mulder, who sat next to her, still holding her hand. He stared at the screen, transfixed, his eyes wide and his lips curved into a grin. He was loving this. And then she considered. Shy geek, smart and cute but the object of ridicule -- it wasn't such a stretch. Maybe the X-Files were Mulder's mask, his opportunity to shine in his own unique, if somewhat bizarre, way. He did what nobody else could -- or would want to -- do. She squeezed his hand and he turned away from the screen to look down at her. "I love you," she mouthed, and he smiled and squeezed her hand back. She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head and they went back to watching the movie. When the dog got the mask Mulder laughed out loud and before she could catch herself, Dana chuckled. She glanced around and saw several of the suits glaring at them. Fox looked an apology at her but said nothing and went back to watching, snickering into his hand. She looked over at the businessman seated across the aisle from them and smiled, then shrugged. "Live a little," she said. He stared at her for another long moment, then sighed and smiled wryly, indicating his computer. She laughed silently and nodded back to show she understood, then turned her attention back to the movie. When she looked back over five minutes later the suit had loosened his tie and was wearing a set of headphones, grinning at the movie screen. She smiled. Maybe people weren't so different from one another, after all. ***** Dinner came -- filet mignon. And it was *excellent* -- she couldn't believe it. Prime steak on an airplane? Mulder grinned and told her that if she couldn't finish hers he would help her. She elbowed him and savored the fresh sauteed mushrooms. They drank coffee with their dessert, enjoying every bite. "You may have spoilt me for second class, Fox," she mumbled around a bite of strawberries. He smiled and leaned over and wiped a smudge of whipped cream from her lower lip and licked it off his fingers. "You don't belong in second class." She said nothing but smiled back, stars in her eyes. She loved him so much -- she always did -- but sometimes, when he came out with a comment like that, she thought she would burst with her love for him. ***** They sat for a long time, talking quietly, and then Mulder motioned to the waiter again, and ordered champagne. When he brought it it was perfectly chilled and accompanied by two crystal flutes. Mulder poured them each a glass and toasted her. "To us," he said simply. She smiled. "To us." They clinked and drank. They drank almost the whole bottle over the next hour or so. It was probably due to the unaccustomed alcoholic influence that she began to get ideas she would never have had otherwise. Or at least she never would have shared them. "Fox," she stage whispered. "Hmmm?" he whispered back, a little buzzed himself. "There's a bathroom up there," she said, nodding to the front of the cabin. "Yeah -- so?" Of course there was. They had both used it earlier, after several cups of hot tea and then iced tea with dinner and then coffee and the first glass of champagne. "So . . ." she giggled, resting her palm on his upper thigh, "have you ever joined the Mile High Club?" He stared at her, eyes wide. "Uhh -- no. You?" He winced. Of course she hadn't. She shook her head, her movements too deliberate. "Nope. Always wanted to, though," she murmured in his ear. He shivered at the feel of her warm breath on his neck. "Wanna try it out?" she asked hopefully, her fingers squeezing his leg. He did. He really, really did. But it wasn't a particularly good idea. Not with as few people as there were in the cabin, and the fact that all the men had noticed her earlier -- really noticed her. He thought he'd caught a few of the women checking him out as well, but it might have been his imagination. "Umm -- no, I don't think that's a good idea, Dana," he whispered back. "Why not?" she asked, her lips softly brushing his ear. And for just a moment he couldn't think of a single reason why not. Not a single one. "Uhhh. Because," he said finally, grasping at the slipping threads of concentration, then ad-libbing frantically, "because -- we're in international airspace, Dana. There might be some laws. . . ." Oh, lord. She was kissing him now and his mind was slipping again. And given the mood she was in, his protestations might just serve as added impetus. he thought, but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around her and kissing her back, slowly, deeply, thoroughly. "Besides. Everyone's still awake," he said desperately, pulling away from her. "So?" So. "So -- at least let's wait until they fall asleep," the rational part of his mind pleaded. The irrational part kept chanting He pushed those thoughts down. "Besides, somebody might have to use the bathroom," he pointed out. "Oh," she said, clearly disappointed. He sighed, only half relieved, and fervently hoped that she would forget about this -- or be asleep herself -- by the time the other occupants of the cabin drifted off. At least, he kept telling himself that he hoped that she would forget it. When had she become such a wild woman? This was, after all, demure, shy little Dana Katherine Scully seated next to him, the woman who had taken him as her very first lover on their wedding night. Not that she was a prude with him -- anything but -- but *this*? He made a mental note to buy a case of champagne when they got back home and keep a bottle chilled just to see what would happen. She sighed and moved closer to him and he curled an arm around her. He looked at the bottle of champagne. At least a glass left. Looked across the aisle. The young man -- younger even than he was -- was chewing his lip and staring at his computer screen. He felt Mulder's eyes on him and looked up. Smiled. Mulder smiled back. "Busy night, huh?" he asked softly. The other man sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Have a report to make in London tomorrow --" he glanced at his watch, "this evening. I'm done but still keyed up, you know?" he asked, looking at Mulder in mute inquiry. Fox nodded. "Been there, done that, have the t-shirt. Business?" The young man nodded. "You?" He shook his head. "Government." "No kidding?" "No kidding." The businessman looked down at Dana, who was dozing with her head pillowed on her husband's chest. "Honeymoon?" he asked with a grin. Mulder nodded. "Of a sort. We didn't get much chance to take a real one -- she's a doctor." "Wow. Well, congratulations, man," the businessman said with another grin. Fox had the distinct impression he was congratulating him on winning Dana as much as he was on his marriage. He considered a moment, looking at the mostly-empty champagne bottle. "Hey. You want the rest of this?" he asked, indicating the ice bucket. The kid's eyes lit up. "Really?" "Sure." He nodded to Dana. "I think we're going to sack out for now." The other man retrieved the bucket and got the steward to bring him a flute. He saluted Mulder and took a sip, then grinned. "Thanks." "Don't mention it." He smiled back and turned slightly away from the aisle, curling his body around Dana's. The arm between the seats had been raised hours ago and he tucked the blanket more securely around her shoulders. Her arms slid around him and she sighed a little again, and they slept, content. ***** He was awakened by a light tapping on his shoulder. He blinked a few times and lifted his head to stare directly into the eyes of the young businessman from across the aisle. "Look!" the young man said excitedly, pointing out the window. He turned his head and looked, then started upright, shaking Dana gently. "Dana, Dana love -- wake up," he whispered. She opened her eyes groggily. "What?" He turned her toward the window and she stared, then gasped. "The Northern Lights!" They sat in stunned awe for a few long moments as the lights danced across the heavens in patterns random yet lovely. God painting the sky at night. Mulder leaned forward and intoned softly in her ear: They call them the heavenly dancers Faery dancers in the sky I'll never forget that wonderful sight They made the heavens bright. After another long moment the lights faded, then disappeared. The young man behind them sighed and moved away. Mulder turned. "Hey. Thanks," he said. The other man nodded. "Don't mention it." ***** They watched the sun rise together, then enjoyed omelettes and fresh fruit and croissants for breakfast. They talked quietly and napped a little. She seemed to have forgotten the Mile High proposition and he was, he confessed, a little disappointed. But then as time passed and they drew nearer to their destination they both became more serious. It had been -- nice, and somewhat necessary, to forget for a time the reason for their trip, just to be Fox and Dana on a romantic trip together, but the knowledge of what awaited them at their journey's end was never too far away. Now it was foremost in their minds again and they dreaded the landing of the plane, although they would be changing airlines at London and taking Aer Lingus the rest of the way. ***** The plane landed at Heathrow and they deplaned, bidding the young businessman farewell and good luck. He headed off for his meeting with a spring in his step and a smile on his lips, confident that his presentation would go well. The sun was shining -- amazing for London -- and he had met two nice people on his flight. He was in a good mood. Life was good. They went through customs and had less trouble than they would have expected with their firearms, which they had checked with their bags. Of course, the cool way in which they had both flashed their badges hadn't hurt any. Mulder had detected just a flicker of interest in the officer's eyes when he looked at Mulder's i.d. He told himself it was just because of his unusual first name, but he wondered. Could this young Yard policeman know . . . naaah. Just his imagination. He wished they had time to explore London -- there was so much he wanted to show Dana. Not all of his memories of England were unhappy ones. Perhaps on their way back they would have more time. They waited and then boarded the Aer Lingus flight -- again, first class, although this flight was less than three hours long. Dana looked at him and he shrugged at her with a smile, wishing money made everything as simple in life as booking two first-class international tickets at the last minute. When he had first found out about his father's legacy to him he had not wanted it but had accepted the money with the intention of funding his search for Samantha if he ever left the FBI. That search was still his driving motivation at work, but now he appreciated having money because it meant he could do things for his wife. She wouldn't let him spoil her, but occasionally she indulged his desire to pamper her, and he revelled in it. Maybe someday they would come back again with no agenda to make demands on their time and dampen the mood. This second flight was smooth and quieter. They were both wrapped in their own thoughts, the uppermost of which was the dread of what they might find when they arrived. "Thanks for getting a flight up to Dublin," she said softly. He nodded. "The train would have been more fun at any other time, but. . . ." She squeezed his hand in understanding and gratitude. After another brief silence she smiled. "What?" "I've never really been on a train," she informed him. His eyes went round. "Well, when I was in Ireland before we flew right in and didn't do any travelling, and rail travel isn't exactly the method of choice in the U.S.," she said defensively. He shook his head. "That's it. On the way back we take the train down to London." She eyed him warily and he hugged her. "It's slower and picturesque and romantic -- you'll love it," he assured her. She nodded and said nothing, wondering how many times he and Phoebe had gone on the train together. Despite herself she felt the faint stirrings of jealousy gnaw at the pit of her stomach. But then she forced herself to relax. *She* was with Fox now instead of Phoebe. He loved *her*, not Phoebe. And so she had nothing, absolutely nothing to fear. *End Chapter Three* =========================================================================== All disclaimers still apply "Ireland" Chapter Four by Macspooky and Juliettt They finally touched down at Shannon Airport and picked up their rental car. Although they would have liked to take a long, leisurely drive through the countryside and stop along the way to enjoy the view, they decided they had better stick to the main road and get to Gran's as quickly as possible. She lived in County Donegal in a small village near the sea not far from the border with the six counties. The plane trip had been a lovely interlude, but their reason for being in Ireland hadn't changed. Gran was still very ill and 93 years old. There might not be much time. Sightseeing would have to wait. "It's incredible how green everything is," Fox observed as they zipped along the highway. "I suppose that's why they call it the Emerald Isle," she smiled. "Think I'll get to kiss the Blarney Stone?" "Not if I have anything to say about it," she laughed. "Why not?" he asked her. "Doesn't everyone kiss the Blarney Stone?" "Because they have to hold you over the side of the cliff by your legs. Then, you kiss the stone, on which, it is said, the locals have peed the night before as a joke on tourists who want to kiss the Blarney Stone." "Oh. Well, maybe we will leave that off the itinerary," he laughed aloud, "although it doesn't sound like the worst thing I've been forced to kiss in my lifetime." "That's gross," she replied, stifling a giggle. They arrived around mid-afternoon and checked into a lovely romantic inn set in a building which was several hundred years old, not wanting to trouble relatives. Fox paid top dollar for a room with a private bath and a fireplace in case the evenings got chilly. Dana accused him of being wasteful, but she was grateful at the same time. Sometimes they got so busy it was difficult to find time alone, and they liked their privacy, particularly at bed time. The last time they had stayed at such a lovely place had been on Martha's Vineyard, but the circumstances had been such that there had been no joy in it. Although their reason for coming to Ireland was also laced with sadness, secretly both were hopeful that there would be happiness here as well. They could both feel the pull and the romance of the old world. Everyone met at Gran's lovely old thatched cottage. It was really only three rooms with an extra sleeping loft but had a wonderful huge old fashioned country kitchen where the large clan could gather around her old pine table, and when the windows were open and the breeze was right, you could hear the sounds of the sea. The entire family was waiting. Dana hugged her mother and greeted Skinner, noting that her mom absolutely glowed. Shelagh and Siobhan were there with their husbands Danny and Conor. "And this is mom's sister, Mairead, but we just call her Aunt Mary, and her husband, my Uncle Barry," smiled Dana. "My husband, Fox, who prefers to be called Mulder." "Aye, and you can just call him Wolf," said a voice from the doorway. Gran still stood ramrod straight although she was pale, and one could see that she had grown weaker. Fox went to her and gave her a hug, and then he helped her into the room for Dana to greet. "You look well, Dana Kate," smiled the old woman brushing her hand through her granddaughter's's hair. "It's so good to see you, Gran," said Dana hugging her. "Aye, and it's good to see you too. Come on now, Wolf, and I'll show you what you need to be shown." "Absolutely not, Mother," said Mairead with exasperation. "You cannot go running about the cliffs. We have been arguing about this all week. Fox and Dana can walk near the cliffs themselves. You tell them where they need to go." "Mary's right," said Margaret, "Now you sit down and rest, mother, and stop being a pest. Besides, they just arrived, and I want to see my daughter and son." "Well, I'm outnumbered . . . for now . . ." said the old woman, sitting down, but she caught Fox's eye and winked. "Now I'll have some tea with my grandchildren while we are waiting for dinner." Siobhan was pregnant and looked nearly ready to deliver. Shelagh went into the bedroom and brought out a newborn baby. "Oh, my, Shelagh, he's lovely," said Dana taking him. He was only four weeks old. "What did you name him?" "Eamon Michael," she said, "He's a good lad." "Like his dad," grinned Conor. "Look, Fox, isn't he gorgeous?" asked Dana. Fox looked at her, concerned, but seeing that she seemed to be handling it all right, he agreed that Eamon was indeed gorgeous. Dana handed him the infant. "I don't think I've ever held anything this little," he said as Mairead poured the tea. He gazed down at the little creature somewhat awed. Eamon Michael was a part of his extended family now. It seemed so incredible that all these people had fallen within his sphere. It seemed even more amazing that they would so calmly hand him one of their infants, as though he dealt with babies everyday, as though he were expected to love it immediately. How very unlike his own family had been. He had never been permitted to touch the infant Samantha, and when he went near the twins he had seen the fear in his mother's eyes. What had happened to the lonely man that he had once been? He looked at Shelagh and smiled. "Always glad to have more in the family, Shelagh," he told her. "Aye," said Siobhan with a wicked grin. "That's a good thing too because I'm having twins." "It seems like everyone is having a baby except me," sighed Dana taking back the baby boy and cuddling him on her shoulder. She was happy for her cousins and her sister, and fought the sadness with determination. "And now you with two for the price of one." She did smile for her cousin. Twins explained her unwieldy size. They would probably be good sized babies too. "Now don't you be worryin' your pretty head about that, Dana Kate," said Gran gently squeezing her wrist. "It took me a year to get pregnant with my Brendan. When God is ready, nothing will stop it. And didn't I tell you a long time ago that Wolf here would sire some beautiful children on you? I was right about his marryin' you and it wouldn't surprise me if you went home from this lovely land of ours in the family way." Dana smiled at her grandmother. What could she say? She certainly couldn't discuss her fears about what had happened during her abduction. Besides, if anyone could foretell the future, it was Gran. Gran always knew how to make her feel better. She felt a pang knowing that her grandmother would be gone soon, never to make her feel better again, but the baby felt so good lying against her that she forced it away. She remembered how it had felt for those few short, wonderful weeks when she had been carrying Fox's child, knowing that somehow she was more important than herself because his baby -- their baby -- was growing inside her. Knowing that with every breath she took she was breathing for two -- until that awful day. . . . She blinked back the tears and smiled down at the baby who was now blinking at her. She never saw her husband's look of sorrow as he watched them or the look he exchanged with her mother. They knew of her fears because they shared them, just as they shared her prayers that her apprehensions would be unfounded and that there would soon be a little Mulder to swell the ranks of the McBride clan. ***** Dinner was a raucous affair filled with laughter and off-color jokes, Gran's stew and fresh milk and beer. In deference to Mulder and Skinner they spoke English, but occasionally they would lapse into the old language, a tradition that Gran had been determined to keep alive. Then there would be gales of laughter, and much to Fox's surprise, Dana seemed to understand it. He and Skinner exchanged glances. These Scully women were full of surprises. Sometimes they would translate and other times it would be explained that it was one of those things that lost something in the attempt. All in all, everyone had a wonderful time. Skinner asked her why it wasn't in her personnel file that she understood Gaelic, and Dana informed him that it was because she didn't want the FBI involving her in the "troubles" somehow. Now that the cat was out of the bag, however, she supposed they would one way or another. To her surprise, he nodded with understanding. When dinner had been eaten, the men retired into the living room in rather traditional fashion. Fox looked at his wife, but she indicated that he should go. It was their way here, and it would give her a chance to talk to her female relatives. "There is a new show on the telly from America," explained Uncle Barry. "_UFO Chasers_. It's about this strange FBI fellow who chases aliens with his female partner." "We've seen it," said Skinner with a dry chuckle. He was enjoying the company of his wife's male relatives more than he had expected to. It was good to be away from work, good not having to watch your back every moment, and wonderful not to sleep alone every night. He was a happy man. He supposed Cancerman had something in the works to aggravate him when he got back, but for now, he was relaxed. "It's a great show, lads," said Conor. "That Agent Selkirk . . . she's all woman" smirked Danny. So, while the women washed the dishes, the guys sat around and drank Irish whiskey and waited for _UFO Chasers_ to appear on screen. By the time it did so, they all had a nice buzz on. The sounds from the living room grew louder as the women worked in the kitchen. Agent Selkirk, a blonde bimbo in a low cut blouse and miniskirt, appeared on screen. Mulder and Skinner simultaneously burst into laughter. "Hey, Mulder," choked Skinner, "How come your partner doesn't have a pair of hooters like that?" Mulder punched his boss good naturedly in the arm. "Because she takes after her mother," he replied, unable to contain his rather drunken laughter. "Oh, yeah, and does she have a heart-shaped mole on her. . . ?" "That she does. . . ." The two men found this uproariously funny, their former reserve forgotten in the face of the whiskey onslaught. "Aye, lads, all the McBride women have it," laughed Barry, "and I know because I've changed diapers on enough of them to last a life time!" Dana had gone to see what all the fun was about, and when she heard the remarks, she was sorely tempted to go in and give them all a lecture, but it was so good to see Fox relaxed and laughing, acting like a normal guy with other guys, that she decided against it. She merely smiled. She knew he liked her "hooters" and moles just fine. Let him be a little sexist for once. It wouldn't kill her to ignore it. "What are they doing in there?" asked Margaret. "Watching TV, getting drunk and comparing our breast sizes and private moles," said Dana dryly. Margaret burst out laughing. "Well, I hope they don't start comparing other privates because I've had six kids and it wouldn't be fair." "Mother!" exclaimed Dana. "Aye and they're being men," said Siobhan, giggling herself. She then went on to initiate a discussion of male anatomy which put Mulder, Skinner and the others to shame and led Dana to believe that she had gotten an excellent deal in the man she married, although she kept her own council in that regard. "I've never met a McBride woman with a decent sized. . . ." began Conor but stopped when Agent Selkirk caught up with the perp she had been chasing. She stood directly in front of a puddle of ooze. She spread her high heeled mini skirted legs apart and pulled her pistol bending forward in her low cut business suit so that the audience could get a proper view. "Stop or I'll shoot," she called to the perp. "Ten shillings says she goes down chest first . . ." said Barry. "No, women know how to show them off without falling. . . ." Selkirk fired her gun and fell face first in the ooze. "Pay up lads." "She was pushed by an invisible alien," said Skinner. "I didn't see any alien," replied Danny. "If you had seen it, it wouldn't be invisible," laughed Fox. "Besides, Reticulans can do that, you know. They can make themselves invisible." "You're all fools and you don't want to pay," said Barry, exasperated and quite tipsy. "A fine lot all of you are. . . ." The men got out their wallets and counted shillings, while Agent Weird Winters came to Agent Selkirk's rescue, scooping ooze out of the front of her blouse in a most gentlemanly fashion. ***** Dana snatched his car keys. "There is no way you are driving back to the inn tonight," she informed him. "I'm okay . . . I can drive just fine. . . . I'm not . . . I'm not. . . . Wally, what am I not?" "You aren't drunk. That's what you're not. Isn't that right . . . what. . . . Margaret . . . that's right, Margaret . . . we aren't drunk. . . ." "Sure," said Meg, "And my name isn't Margaret Skinner. To bed with you, Walt." She grabbed his ear like a 10 year old and hauled him into the cottage. Fox watched them go. "Hey, Wally," he called, swaying on his feet. "That's another thing about McBride women, you know -- always dragging you to bed. . . ." He turned and found Scully watching him, her hands on her hips. "Oops." She shook her head at him. "Hey, ShortStuff -- I ever tell you you're really sexy when you're mad?" She sighed and shoved him towards the car. "*What* am I going to do with you?" "Are you taking sug . . . sug . . . I have a few ideas." He tried to leer at her but only succeeded in looking very drunk and a little sick. "Yeah, right. And have you throw up all over me? I don't think so." She unceremoniously dumped Fox in the front of the car and walked around to the other side to drive them to the hotel. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, smelling rather like a still and snoring like a buzzsaw. She looked down at him and smiled. She supposed she ought to be annoyed with him, but she didn't have the heart. He'd had such a wonderful time. She didn't think she had ever heard him laugh that much. There had been no one to make fun of him, or call him "Spooky." They had all just accepted him as the latest addition to the family, and that felt nice. She got into bed and was asleep herself in no time in spite of the snoring. ***** "Fox, it's time to get up. . . . Fox, it's time for church." Mulder rolled over and moaned. His mouth tasted like an army had marched through it, and his head was pounding. "I'm a heathen. I don't go to church," he murmured, putting the pillow over his head. "Here, you do," his wife informed him in no uncertain terms, snatching the pillow and whacking him with it. "The whole family goes. Now GET up." "Okay, okay. . . . Jeez. . . ." He sat up slowly and then made a quick run for the bathroom. Tomato juice, three aspirin and about a gallon of coffee later, the two of them were ready and after a short drive appeared outside the lovely old church. Although his head felt as though Wile E. Coyote were chasing Road Runner around in it, Fox found himself very taken by the atmosphere. The church was very, very old -- he could feel its age in the air. And yet it did not give him a sense of decay; rather, this seemed to be a place of great wisdom. He had not been to a church service in a long time, but he enjoyed this one. There was such a sense of tradition here, of peace and tranquility and history. It was another McBride family tradition and he welcomed it as he had the others. Around the perimeter of the church the ancient statues of the saints watched over them, and other figures gleamed in the stained glass windows. One in particular caught his attention -- an elaborate rendering above the altar of the lion lying down with the lamb, beneath a figure of Christ. It seemed strangely ludicrous to him that in this country that was so torn by religious dissention the people would continue to look to the Church to bring them back together. Then again, nothing else had been able to do so; perhaps someday that picture would become reality. Dana whispered to him that the service was a High Mass and then she was silent except when she recited the responses with the rest of the congregation. He simply listened and watched in fascination as the procession of altar boys and three priests dressed in elaborate robes made their way down the aisle to the strains of the organ. The thick stone walls gave the church wonderful acoustics and swelled the organ and choir until it sounded like a cathedral. The smell of incense assailed his nostrils as the church grew smoky. Although he didn't know the responses and was unsure of the propriety of saying them, anyway, he did follow the others as they knelt, sat, and stood. Then suddenly as he knelt half listening to the priest chanting the prayers that Catholics believed turned bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, his eyes came to rest on the Madonna and Child. She had a lovely face, a face he thought was not unlike Dana's, carved perhaps by an Irish artist. In her arms she held a chubby baby. She gazed at her son in adoration as the infant looked out over the world with a wisdom beyond his years. Something about the face, the lighting, the smell of the incense, the chanting, moved a part of his soul, and Fox remembered with a pang the promise he had made to Dana's father, that he would marry his daughter in the Church. Before he realized it, the Mass had ended. The priest had told them to go in peace, but he knew he would not -- not until he kept his promise. He had been given another mission. He was going to marry his wife in this church, and he would not be content until he had done so. A plan began forming in his mind. ***** "I'll talk to Father Flynn, Wolf," whispered Gran. Fox smiled at her. "And don't you worry, lad, we'll sneak away to those cliffs yet." Dana came into the room. "And what are my two favorite people conspiring about?" she asked, smiling at them. "Nothing, lass. Why don't the two of you take a long stroll by the sea. 'Tis a lovely day. Come back for tea later." "Okay, Gran. This is like a honeymoon for us. We didn't really get a chance to have one before." "Did you have a bed?" "Of course." "Did you do what you were supposed to do in it?" "You better believe it," laughed Fox. "She liked it, too." "Then you had your honeymoon," cackled the old woman, "and don't try to deny that you enjoyed it yourself, Wolf." He grinned at her. He had. He most definitely had. That wonderful, incredible week with his beautiful Dana in the queen bed of of her -- now their -- apartment had been everything he wanted. But he still regretted not giving his wife the wedding of her dreams, with a priest and a church and flowers and friends and family gathered around and a beautiful white dress. Unlike most of the women in her family she had truly deserved to wear the white dress, and he felt he had cheated her out of that. Well, with Gran's help -- and Father's Flynn's -- he was going to fix that. Better late than never. Hand in hand, the young lovers left the cottage. "I'm starved," announced Dana. "Let's go to the pub for some lunch and then walk along near the cliffs." "Sounds great, my 'wild Irish rose'," he said, slipping an arm around her waist. It was a lovely long walk. Fox actually played tourist and took pictures. They stopped someone and asked them to take a picture of the two of them together. Then they walked some more, stopping now and again to admire some scenery and to kiss. "Oh, I like that, Spook," she murmured as they embraced. "Sometimes it's kind of fun just to kiss, you know, like before we got married, when a certain person I know wouldn't do anything more." "Well, think of it this way, love. You'll always respect me." He looked at her with that impish grin. She threw her head back and laughed. "Right, and next you'll be telling methat you were a virgin." "Well, I was . . . until I met Phoebe. . . ." This time they laughed together, the kind that comes from being comfortable and secure. It didn't even hurt him to mention that name anymore. Bit by bit his incredible wife was exorcising all of his old demons. By the time they got back to the cottage for tea, it had started to rain, and they were dripping wet and laughing as they entered the door. Margaret smiled. It was good to see her daughter and Fox so happy. She sent them to the fire to dry off. Gran grinned wickedly at Fox and winked. Mulder saw Skinner sitting in the easy chair dressed in an Irish wool sweater and started to laugh. "Something funny, Mulder?" he inquired. "I don't know, Wally. Somehow you still manage to look like the Lord of the Manor, " chuckled Fox. "And somehow, you always manage to look as though you had just been hit by a cyclone, 'Spooky'," Skinner retorted good naturedly. Two could play "Aggravation." "That's enough bickering, you two," admonished Margaret, "or you both know what you won't get tonight." Dana thought, but she simply nodded. "Ooops," both men replied simultaneously and then laughed as Gran cackled, until she started to cough, reminding them how weak she really was growing. ***** Fox had never really talked to a priest before and he was nervous. It was silly, really. A priest was just a man, but in this case he was a man who could mean the difference between keeping a promise or not. He had to try. Somehow when he was ushered into the study he felt like a small boy sent to the headmaster. Gran had whispered that Father Flynn was amiable, but she had needed to speak to him first. "Uh . . . good morning, Father -- Sir. . . ." "Top o' the mornin to you, Mr. Mulder. Sit down." "Thank you, Sir." Mulder sat at the edge of the chair. To his surprise, two glasses appeared with a bottle of Irish Mist. He hated Irish Mist. One glass made him drunk. He didn't need to be drunk again. "Now, tis a wee bit early, lad," said Father Flynn, "but when the widow McBride tells me that a Mulder wants to marry her last granddaughter in the Catholic Church, it seems to me to be a cause for celebration." Fox didn't entirely understand, but he didn't argue either. He assumed Gran knew what she was about. A glass was handed to him. "Slante," said Father Flynn. He downed half the glass in one gulp. "To your health, Sir. . . ." Fox took a sip. "No, lad, you've got to drink better than that. Now, will you raise the children Catholic?" "I have no objection to that." "It isn't often one finds such respect for the dead. Bill Scully was a fine man, a good father . . ." he took another drink. "Those girls of his . . . drink up lad . . . there now, have a wee bit more . . . what was I saying?" "Those girls?" "All those redheads . . . such tempers . . . and such mischief . . . Sinead, Siobhan, Shelagh, Melissa, Dana . . . all like their grandmother. Is that Melissa still in another world?" Fox threw his head back and brayed. "That she is," he laughed. "One of her own making." "And Dana, still the skeptic?" "Sort of. . . ." "The pagan and the skeptic those two. When Dana was a little girl, I was speaking to her about the miracle of the Mass, about how the bread and wine are turned into the body and blood of the Savior, and do you know what she said to me, lad?" "What?" "That she didn't know that miracles were so easy to come by." "That's my Dana . . ." he laughed, trying to picture her as a child. The stories this man could probably tell about his wife. . . . And the Irish Mist was going down much more easily now. He debated briefly discussing the boy Kevin with Father Flynn but decided against it. The priest might be annoyed with him for not believing. "You love her very much, don't you, lad?" "Yes," he said, turning serious, "I love her more than anything." Father Flynn noticed a look of deep sadness cross the young man's face for an instant. Mary Elizabeth had said there was something special about this young man, something haunted, and her old friend could see it. "What is it, lad?" "Nothing, Father. I'll just feel a lot better when I've kept my promise to her dad. . . ." Father Flynn could not resist the temptation to pour just a "wee" bit more into the empty glasses, filling them to the top. There was something likable about this young man. "I'll read the banns starting tomorrow. We'll have the wedding on Saturday at 10 AM. I'm bending the rules a bit here, but under the circumstances, it is the best thing to do. Now, did you ever hear the joke about. . . ." ***** Fox wove his way along the path bellowing "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" and "It's a Long Way to Tipperary" at the top of his lungs. His legs felt rather like rubber bands, but he was happy. A familiar face came along. "Who the . . . not Cancerman . . . no . . . one of Barry's farm hands . . . yes . . . family. . . ." "Well, looks like ye've started yer drinkin' a wee bit early," chuckled the man, slipping an arm under Fox's. "Come along now. I'll lead you home." OH PADDY WROTE A LETTER TO HIS IRISH MOLLY-O SAID IF YOU DON'T RECEIVE IT WON'T YOU WRITE AND LET ME KNOW AND IF THERE IS A MISTAKE IN SPELLING MOLLY DEAR SAID HE REMEMBER TIS THE PEN GONE BAD, DON'T THROW THE BLAME ON ME OH IT'S A LONG WAY TO TIPPARARY. . . . Dana opened the door. She had heard him bellowing all the way up the walk. "Fox Mulder, where the hell have you been?" "Started tipplin' a wee bit early, Mrs. Mulder." "Well, thank you for bringing him back. . . ." She dragged him inside. In the background she heard Gran laughing. "Hey, Thcully," he said, "thith guy was out walking and found a funny looking little crea . . . crea . . . ani . . . ani . . . thing." "Come on, Mulder. You are going to bed. . . ." "Animal. . . . It wasth called a Rary. . . . He takeths it home Thcully . . . you know, kind of like how you took home that damn dog. . . ." "Bed, Mulder...." She led him towards Gran's room. He would never make it to the loft. "But it eaths and eaths and eaths and hith wife geths mad and telths him to get rid of it. He likthes the Rary, but you know how women are and she nagths and nagths . . . jush like you do when you're gonna get your period and want the houth clean . . . tho he takth it on a long walk to the top of a mountain. When they get there he starths to push it over the edge . . . and do you know what it sayth Thcully . . . do ya . . . do ya. . . ." "No, Mulder, and I don't care to . . ." she had nearly gotten him to lie down. "It sayth . . . it sayth . . . pleasth don't. Pleasth. . . . It'th a long way to tip a Rary. . . ." "Oh, God," she moaned, shoving him down on the bed as he laughed hysterically. "Go to sleep, Mulder." "Can't, gotta pee. . . . It's a long way to tip a Rary. . . ." She hauled him to the bathroom. "Watch where you are aiming, Mulder. . . ." "Can't . . . do it for me. . . ." "No way, not even for you." She finally got him to bed. He pulled her down on top of him not even certain where he was. "Let'th do it, babe. . . ." "Not now, Mulder," she replied, trying to get away. "You have to . . . we have to make . . . what ith it we have to make . . . oh, yeah . . . we have to make a Rary. . . ." He passed out. Dana sighed with relief, pulled the comforter over him and left the room quickly. "He told the Rary joke did he?" asked Gran, laughing. "Yes, Gran. . . ." "Then everything will be okay, lass," she said enigmatically, "after he gets over the hangover. . . ." Dana opened her mouth to ask and then, upon consideration, decided that she might not want to know after all. *End Chapter Four* ===========================================================================