Title: The Exponent of Breath (1 of 2)
Author: Diana Battis (All4Mulder@aol.com)
Distribution: OK for Gossamer, Xemplary, and Spookys site. Anywhere else, 
keep my name attached to it, make sure it's archived in its entirety, & let 
me know where. I like to visit my offspring!    
Classification: SA, MSR  
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Summary: Tragic circumstances lead to thoughts on love and death and the 
whole damn thing.
Disclaimer: In the beginning there was Chris Carter and the word, and the 
word was made flesh, courtesy of David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, and 
dwelt among us. The characters belong to them, as well as to 1013 and Fox 
Broadcasting. I make no claim on them, and I make no money from them! 
Author's Comments: As always, thanks to Kristy, for the terrific beta 
services and for keeping it real.
Music may be the food of love, but I live for feedback! E-mail me -- 
All4Mulder@aol.com
http://thebasementoffice.com/Musea/dbattis/TheXFilesFic.html

********

Love is anterior to life, 
Posterior to death, 
Initial of creation, and 
The exponent of breath. 
    
    Emily Dickinson

********

She opened the door, prepared for the worst. It was said that most Bureau 
wives reacted that way to that unwelcome knock on the door. Expect the worst, 
and deal with the situation. It was rarely as bad as you imagined. Except 
this time, it was the worst.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Melanie's voice shook slightly, and her arms wrapped 
around her body as she faced them in the entryway.

"Mel, let's sit down." Scully took her arm and gently pulled her toward the 
living room. She settled her on the edge of the overstuffed couch, and took a 
seat next to her, grabbing Melanie's hand in support.

As the only woman at the scene, Scully had volunteered to accompany the A.D. 
to deliver the news. It was doubly hard, as she knew Melanie. Her husband, 
Special Agent Michael Jackson, had worked with Mulder and her on a few cases. 
Mike had been a good agent, and a great guy with a terrific sense of humor. 
Had to have one, he'd said on more than one occasion, to be able to survive 
with a name like that.

Now that name would join the list of those killed in the line of duty.

Skinner seemed to have shrunk in size. This would not be easy for him. Though 
he gave the impression of a controlled and sometimes cold man, those who had 
the opportunity to work closely with him knew that he was fiercely protective 
of his agents. No one cared more about them than he did, and he didn't take 
his responsibility to them or their families lightly. 

"Mrs. Jackson, I'm sorry." His voice cracked a bit on the last word, 
betraying the emotions he strove to keep in check. "Your husband, Michael was 
killed tonight, while saving the lives of four hostages. He died a hero." 

Melanie shook her head slowly, looking at the floor, as if by refusing to 
meet Skinner's eyes she could deny the truth. "No, no, no! This just can't be 
right. It can't! You. . .you've made a mistake." She closed her eyes, 
continuing to ignore the A.D. even as she denied his statement. 

Turning at last to face Scully, Melanie's eyes pleaded with her as the 
reality of the situation washed over her. "Dana, you know Mike. It wasn't 
him, right? They've got the wrong man. He's. . .he's taking me on a cruise to 
Jamaica next month. We've got reservations." Her face crumpled, the mask of 
denial slowly cracking away. "We've got reservations. . ." Her voice broke on 
a sob as tears ran down her cheeks.

Scully bit her lip, then took a deep, cleansing breath. She leaned closer to 
Melanie.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, shaking her head.

Those two simple words were the confirmation of all her fears, and Melanie 
surrendered to the pain.  Opening her arms, Scully cradled the grief-stricken 
woman against her shoulder, rocking her and murmuring soothing words.

Melanie allowed herself a scant moment of weakness, quickly recovering her 
natural dignity. She pushed away from Scully with a softly muttered thanks. 
Scrubbing at the wetness on her cheeks, she faced Skinner.

"What. . .what happened?" Her brown eyes searched his face for answers.

"It was a hostage situation. Your husband was leading the negotiations when 
something went wrong. Without warning, the suspect started shooting. Agent 
Jackson was hit, but before he went down he returned fire, killing the 
suspect instantly. There hasn't been an opportunity to question the hostages 
yet. We'll know more after we talk with them." He moved over to crouch down 
before Melanie. "I can't tell you how sorry I am, Mrs. Jackson. Your husband 
was one of our best." He touched her shoulder gently. Rising, he looked at 
Scully, and at her nod left the room.

"I knew it would end this way. Had nightmares about it. Mike always brushed 
off my concerns. Said he'd be more likely to die in a traffic accident." She 
choked back a sob. "I was gonna make a pot roast tomorrow. That's Mike's 
favorite. . ." Lost in thought, she stared at her hands, clenched tightly in 
her lap.

"Mel? Mel?" She raised her head slowly to look at Scully. "Is there someone I 
can call for you?"

Mel nodded, her fingers pulling at the lace edging the sleeve of her robe. 
"My mom and dad. They'll come, they live just a few miles from here." Her 
voice was a mere whisper, full of pain. "They've been expecting this call for 
a long time. My dad wanted Mike to come work for him. Said it was much safer 
behind a desk." She shook her head slowly. "But you know Mike. Wouldn't hear 
of it. Said he couldn't imagine himself as a desk jockey. Oh my God!" She 
buried her head in her hands.

Scully made the call, quietly explaining the situation to the shocked Mrs. 
Baker, then returned to sit with her friend. Watching her struggle for 
control, she was amazed at the strength Mel displayed. Strength that 
disappeared when her parents arrived, and she collapsed into her mother's 
arms.

As she listened to Mel's sobs, Scully was barely able to restrain her own 
tears. This can't be happening, she thought, it's unreal, like a bad dream. 
But she knew it wasn't a nightmare, as least, not the kind you wake up from. 
. .

The soft, calming voice of Mrs. Baker reached her ears, and she swallowed 
hard, forcing herself to breathe deeply. Satisfied that her friend was in 
capable hands, Scully prepared to leave.

Skinner stood in the hall, speaking to Mr. Baker. She dipped her head, and 
attempted to slip past them unnoticed.

"Agent Scully?" Skinner's voice stopped her. "Are you okay?" His dark eyes 
examined her sharply, concern shining in their depths.

"I'm fine, sir." She flashed him a small smile, but her voice betrayed her, 
the words sounding hollow and false to her ears.

He looked hard at her, then nodded decisively. "Goodnight, Scully."

"Goodnight, sir." She quickly left the house, closing the door quietly behind 
her.

Driving home, she started to think about last New Year's Eve. That same 
house, again brightly lit, only then the air was alive with music and 
laughter. Mel and Mike, looking so happy. . .

********

Scully sat on the stairs, impatiently waiting for midnight. She'd claimed 
this spot ages ago, and was now comfortably ensconced, shoes off and her toes 
peeping from beneath the long, black skirt. New Year's Eve parties weren't 
high on her list of fun things to do, but Melanie had begged her to come. 
Scully had found it impossible to refuse her friend, which was why she was 
sitting there, counting the minutes until she could politely leave.

The house was wall-to-wall people, and the noise was almost deafening. 
Sipping from a glass of burgundy, her expression was a mixture of boredom and 
distaste as she watched her normally staid co-workers make fools of 
themselves. And these people are allowed to carry guns, she thought ruefully. 
Her eyebrows twitched as an agent passed her vantage point, a flower tucked 
behind his ear and a woman's shawl tied around his waist. 

"Hey, girl! Where's your date? It's almost midnight, you know." Mel plopped 
herself down beside Scully, grinning when she saw the discarded shoes.

Scully was grateful for the interruption. Smiling at her friend, she replied, 
"Date? I came alone, Mel, you know that." She waved her hand at the carousing 
mass of people. "Besides, I was counting on you to introduce me to Mr. Right. 
So, where is he?" Scully teased, turning to her with a devilish gleam in her 
eyes. Her look had little to do with men and more to do with the three 
glasses of wine she'd already consumed.

Melanie threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, honey, you know you've already 
met him. I've seen the way he looks at you, and I've seen you looking back. 
You got it bad, baby." Mel patted Scully's shoulder in mock sympathy.

Frozen in embarrassment, Scully just stared, unable to respond. Her 
hesitation further amused Mel, who raised an eyebrow, daring her to deny it. 
Feeling the color rising in her face, she mentally cursed her Celtic heritage 
as she tried to formulate a reply.

She paused, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know what you 
mean," Scully finally asserted, nearly believing it herself.

"Okay, okay, have it your way." Mel impishly winked at her. "But I think you 
should know, he just got here about fifteen minutes ago. Alone," she 
whispered conspiratorially, taking great delight in teasing her friend. "And 
he's been staring at you for the last ten. So, what do you have to say 'bout 
that, girlfriend?" Laughing, she poked Scully in the side with her elbow. 

Mel's laughter was contagious and she joined in, happy to be there, to know 
that Mulder was near, to know that he was watching her. 

Watching her. . . The urge to look for him was almost too great to ignore, 
but somehow she managed.

Scully smoothed down the black silk blouse she was wearing, suddenly 
conscious of its dipping neckline. "I say. . .Happy New Year, Mel, and 
shouldn't you be looking for Mike? Like you just said, it's almost midnight."

Mel grinned. "I know right where he is, honey. He's watching us, too." She 
glanced at her watch. "You've got five minutes, Dana. Everybody kisses at 
midnight. Go for it! Just a friendly little kiss. Life's just dropped a prime 
opportunity in your lap. Don't let it slip by!" 

"We've been partners for over five years. If, and I stress that word 'if', 
anything was going to happen it would have occurred a long time ago. We're 
happy with things the way they are." Scully smiled, then finished the last of 
her wine and set the glass down. "Go find that man of yours, Mel."

"Honey, you can't be thinking clearly. No woman really wants to be alone. She 
just tells herself that shit while she waits for the right man to come along. 
And baby, you've found yours." She gave Scully a knowing look. "Trust me on 
this, Dana. I'm speaking from experience. I've gone the single route -- it 
ain't all that and a bag of chips." 

"That's a bit of a generalization, isn't it Mel? How can you compare your 
life to every other woman's?" Scully's voice held a note of exasperation, but 
instead of discouraging Mel, it seemed to spur her on. 
 
"Dana, this is *me* you're talking to. I've seen what goes on between you 
two. Both of you are in deep denial." Mel was suddenly serious, and Scully 
regretted the turn the conversation had taken. She desperately wanted to 
change the subject, but now. . .well, she couldn't leave Mel with the wrong 
impression.

"I know you and Mike have a wonderful marriage. But that isn't necessarily 
what makes every woman happy. I like my life. I have an exciting job, a 
loving family, and. . ." she gave Mel a sidelong glance, ". . .and wonderful, 
slightly meddlesome friends. What more do I need?"

Sighing, Mel shook her head in despair. "If you have to ask, darlin', you're 
definitely missing it." She twisted around to face Dana, their knees bumping. 
"You're one of the lucky ones. He's hanging there in front of your nose. 
Don't ignore him. He's ripe for the pickin'." Mel stood and brushed down her 
skirt. "Tell him, Dana. It's never too late. . ." Her words faded, and Scully 
watched as Melanie made her way through the crowd to Mike's side. 

"Hey, Scully." Mulder was standing at the bottom of the steps, holding two 
glasses of champagne. "Private party, or can anyone join?" Patting the empty 
space beside her, she smiled in invitation.

Mulder seated himself next to her, their shoulders bumping as he handed her 
the glass. "Happy New Year, Scully." His glass clinked against hers, and they 
sipped the slightly warm champagne.

She glanced at him over her glass. He looked wonderful, wearing a dark Armani 
with a snowy white shirt. And for a change, his tie was a conservative 
striped one. The knot was slightly askew and Scully fought the desire to 
straighten it.

She was so aware of him, the smell his cologne, and the warmth of his body 
next to her. He smiled, and leaned closer to her. Scully's heartbeat 
accelerated as Mel's words flowed through her mind. Tell him. . .

Suddenly, noisemakers erupted amid cheers. Confetti swirled and couples 
kissed, while someone started to sing a drunken version of Auld Lang Syne.

Tell him, her mind urged.

Looking into his eyes, she opened her mouth. . . 

"Happy New Year, Mulder."

********

The blare of a horn brought her back to the present, and Scully realized with 
a shock that she had drifted into the opposite lane. Wrenching the wheel, she 
narrowly avoided the other car, her hands trembling at the near-miss.

She pulled to the side of the road, resting her head against the steering 
wheel, her breathing harsh and loud in the confines of the car. God, that was 
close, she thought shakily as she fought for control. Too close. There had 
been enough tragedy tonight. . .

Parking in front of her apartment half an hour later, Scully noticed Mulder's 
car across the street. He'd heard, and was waiting for her. As she opened her 
door, he stepped from his car and crossed over to where she was now standing.

Her eyes skittered across his face, seeing the unspoken question there. 
Shrugging, she sighed and looked away. His finger lifted her chin, forcing 
her to meet his eyes. "Scully?" His face was drawn, and without another word 
he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. "Skinner called me," he 
whispered into her hair.

She allowed herself to sink against him for a moment, her arms hanging limply 
at her sides while he supported her. It was heavenly, soaking up comfort and 
some of the reserve strength Mulder always seemed to have. She rested against 
him for a moment, until common sense convinced her to pull out of his embrace.

Stepping away, she smoothed back her hair with less than steady fingers, not 
sure she was emotionally prepared for a question and answer session. "Mel's 
holding up pretty well, under the circumstances," she volunteered. Her voice 
was unsteady, and Scully ducked her head, looking away from the sympathy in 
his eyes.

Surprisingly, Mulder didn't push for further details. "Let's get you inside," 
he said quietly. Taking her by the elbow, he guided her to the building, his 
keys already in hand.

In the apartment, she let him ease off her coat. She was so weary that it 
didn't even matter when he tossed it over the back of a chair. His hands, 
gentle and insistent, steered her over to the couch and pushed her into its 
softness. Kneeling, he removed her shoes, his hair shining in the muted 
light. He looked up at her then, and she managed a tremulous smile before 
closing her eyes and letting the scent of lemon wax and potpourri, the smell 
of home, wash over her.

There was no comfort in her surroundings tonight. Her mind was too full of 
the day's events, filling her with a persistent sense of dread that made 
relaxing impossible. She felt old and tired, and incapable of dealing with 
Mulder.

Soon she heard water running and the clank of the kettle as he settled it on 
the stove to boil. Normally, the thought of Mulder in her kitchen would have 
inspired a moment of panic. But not tonight. She was to tired to care. 
Leaning back into the cushions, she closed her eyes, willing her body to 
relax. . .

She must have dozed off, the strain of the day taking its toll. Suddenly, 
Mulder was shaking her, calling softly, "Scully?" Brushing away the last 
vestiges of sleep, she sat forward, pushing her hair behind her ears. "I've 
made you some tea." He handed her a cup and she accepted it gratefully, 
sipping slowly at the fragrant brew.

He sat beside her, hovering like a new mother. He was so close his breath 
stirred the hair that was again covering her cheek. Looking up at him, she 
tried to smile in reassurance, but her mouth refused to cooperate. To her 
horror, tears filled her eyes and slowly trickled down her cheeks. She saw 
the stricken look on his face, and the hand that reached out to her. . .

Scully could no longer face him. Glancing away, she looked down at her hands, 
grasping the cup like a lifeline. As she watched, her tears dripped onto 
them, and one plopped into her cup. The surface rippled as the salty wetness 
mixed with the dark brew. Bitter tears and bitter tea. She carefully placed 
the cup on the coffee table, then stood and walked over to the window.

She looked for her reflection in the glass, but instead saw the tear-stained 
cheeks, glum face and sagging shoulders of a stranger. It frightened her. For 
the first time, she felt out of control, rocked by circumstances she was 
unable to anticipate or prevent.

Mulder was watching her, too. Scully sensed his uncertainty, but couldn't 
help him. She was too confused herself, too scared of what she might say or 
do in her moment of weakness.

Observing him in the window, she saw him stand. He hesitated, then seemed to 
come to a decision. Scully tensed, fearing what might come next. Her defenses 
were down and if he touched her, she would be lost.  

But Mulder surprised her. He was putting on his coat, preparing to leave.

She dragged her fingers across her cheeks, wiping away the final remnant of 
tears. Turning, Scully took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before 
walking over to him. This time she succeeded in smiling. "Thanks, Mulder, 
for. . .for the tea," she finished lamely, her tone remote.

He looked hard at her, and for a moment she felt naked, as though he had 
peeled away the protective layers and reached her soul. Then he nodded. 
"Don't mention it, Scully." He sounded cool, and her eyes widened in 
surprise. Ignoring her look, he turned and walked out the door, closing it 
softly behind him.

Back at the window, she saw him get into the car. If he was aware of her 
scrutiny, he gave no sign, but started the car and pulled away smoothly. She 
watched until the car was out of sight. Sighing, she closed the drapes 
against the darkness.

********
End of Part one