Title: The Exponent of Breath (2 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

********

The apartment was quiet, yet the silence was far from comforting. It hung in 
the air like fog, settling on everything with its cloying fingers. All her 
senses seemed heightened, her awareness of her surroundings more intense than 
before, making Scully aware of the shocking void in her life. 

Suddenly, she felt restless. Grabbing her cup, she took it to the kitchen. 
Her movements were automatic as she methodically washed, dried and put it 
away. She emptied the kettle and wiped the already clean counter. It was 
important to stay busy, to keep the memories of the day from intruding. 

She moved through the apartment, now so quiet. Her refuge, familiar and yet 
foreign. The copper bowl of silk flowers on the small table, the tapers in 
their antique silver candlesticks on the mantle, the family photographs, 
everything was in its appointed place. Yet it suddenly seemed wrong.

Picking up her coat, she held it close to her face. She was amazed that it 
retained the faint smell of Mulder's cologne. Wrapping herself in the soft 
cashmere, she felt comforted by his scent. It surrounded her, as though he 
were still with her.

A sudden chill went through her, and she sat heavily in the now empty chair. 
This is how it will be for Mel from now on, she mused, biting her bottom lip. 
She'll be searching for bits and pieces of Mike, hanging on to them for as 
long as she can, because that's all that Mel has now. A piece of clothing, a 
scent. Memories. . .

Standing, Scully moved to the fireplace, contemplating the display of framed 
photos. She picked up the silver framed portrait of her parents, running her 
finger over the glass front. Is that how it was for you, Mom? Did you look 
for little signs of Ahab everywhere? Sighing, she replaced the photo and 
paced restlessly around the room.

The coat dropped from her shoulders, falling to the floor as she walked over 
to the phone. Sitting on the edge of the couch, she hit auto dial.

"Mom, it's me." She clenched the phone tightly, already regretting the 
impulse which led to this call.

"Dana, honey, is everything all right?" Margaret Scully's voice was thick 
with sleep and concern.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" Scully suddenly realized she had no idea of 
the time. Checking her watch she was shocked to see it was almost two a.m.

"It's okay, Dana. Is something wrong?" The natural warmth of her mother's 
voice came across the line, instantly comforting Scully.

"I don't want you to worry, but. . .an agent was killed tonight. It was Mike 
Jackson, Mel's husband." She shivered, remembering the sound of the shots. 

"My God, I don't know what to say. How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay, Mom, really. It's Mel I'm worried about." She bit her lip, ill at 
ease discussing her feelings.

If Maggie noticed her daughter's reticence, she didn't comment on it. "How's 
Mel?"

Scully sighed wearily. "She's devastated, but she managed to hold herself 
together. At least until her mom arrived. Mel's strong. It'll be hard, but 
she'll get through this."

"She'll need her friends, Dana." Maggie observed soberly. "Sometimes, you 
lose more than a husband."

"Did. . .did that happen when Ahab died?" Scully leaned back, tucking her 
legs under her as she settled more comfortably in the corner of the couch.

Her mother snorted in disgust. "Yes, it did. Women can be ruthless creatures 
when it comes to men, Dana. I was a grieving widow, but some of my so-called 
friends didn't see that. They were suddenly faced with a single woman, and 
they couldn't handle it. So not only did I lose your father, but I lost 
people I'd counted on for support."

"Not much of a loss, I suppose," Scully replied quietly. "Why didn't you tell 
me, Mom?"

"You had enough to worry about, honey. I knew you were hurting just as much 
as I was."

"Mom, were you ever. . ." Scully hesitated, unsure how to proceed. How do you 
ask someone if they regretted loving? Especially if that someone is your 
mother. . .

"Dana? Are you still there?" Maggie inquired anxiously.

Scully jumped at the sound of her mother's voice. "I'm here. I was just 
thinking." She cleared her throat nervously. "Mom, were you ever sorry you 
loved Ahab? Did you ever regret getting married so young and then almost 
immediately starting a family? Did you ever have. . .doubts?"

Her mother laughed softly. "Yes, to all three questions. I think most women 
feel that way. Loving a man, raising a family, they aren't easy things to do. 
But I don't think that's what you really want to know, is it?" Maggie 
inquired pointedly. "Would I do it all over if I had the chance, that's what 
you're really asking."

"Would you?" Scully held her breath, waiting for the answer.

"I wouldn't change a thing," she stated firmly. "Oh, maybe I'd have been 
happier if your father had shore duty. But I loved him, I love my children. 
You never regret love." Scully heard the satisfaction in her mother's voice. 
"Now it's my turn to ask a question -- why did you want to know?"

"No particular reason. Just curious." Scully lied, tucked an unruly strand of 
hair behind her ear.

She heard her mother stifle a yawn. "I think there's more to it than that, 
Dana, but I'm too tired to badger you about it tonight. You need to go to 
bed, too," she ordered.

"Thanks, Mom. You've been a big help," she murmured softly. "Goodnight." She 
hung up and replaced the phone on the coffee table, a pensive expression on 
her face.

I let Mulder go tonight, she thought. Hell, I practically chased him away, 
knowing that with one word, one gesture, he would have stayed. . .

Her eyes strayed back to the mantle, seeking her parents picture. She stared 
at it for several minutes, deep in thought. A soft smile spread across her 
face. With a sudden, decisive nod, Scully thrust her feet back into her 
pumps, grabbed her coat from the floor and ran out of the apartment.

********

Arriving at Mulder's, her eyes scanned the street looked for his car. Maybe 
he wasn't home, she thought, feeling both anxiety and relief. Glancing at his 
dark windows, she was noticed the sudden flickering of light. His television 
was on. He was there. . .

As Scully waited for the elevator her doubts returned, gnawing away at her 
resolve. What if this was a mistake?

She wanted to turn around and go back to Georgetown. It would be so easy to 
keep things the same between them. Safer, too. Somehow, she knew Mulder would 
always be there for her, no matter what she chose to do tonight.

He's important to me, both as a friend and a partner, she reflected. What if 
I destroy what we already have?

Maybe it wasn't worth the risk. . .

The doors slid open, and she stepped into the elevator. She hesitated, her 
hand hovering over the buttons as she continued to wrestle with her 
uncertainties. I'm afraid, she thought, but not of being alone. Mel was wrong 
about that. I'm just afraid of losing Mulder. What if he doesn't feel the 
same as I do?  

"You never regret love." Scully repeated her mother's words aloud. She jabbed 
the button, and the elevator doors closed.

Sometimes you just have to take a chance, and to hell with the consequences.

Scully walked quickly down the hall, her footsteps ringing sharply in the 
emptiness. Stopping before his door, she reached out to lightly touch the 
hard surface. The number 42, shiny and new, glistened in the soft light, 
inviting her in. Taking a deep breath, she knocked sharply. Silence, then she 
heard the bolt pushed back.

The door was thrown wide, and Mulder stood there, framed in the opening. He 
had changed his clothes, and was now wearing a black tee shirt and rumpled 
jeans. Looking at her through heavy lidded eyes, he seemed unsurprised to see 
her there.

His unblinking stare stirred the little shred of doubt she'd desperately 
tried to ignore. But it was too late to turn back. It's now or never, she 
told herself. Without waiting for an invitation, she pushed her way in, and 
walked straight to the television, hitting the off button.

Sudden darkness blanketed the room, with the glow from his fish tank 
providing the only light. She was nervously aware of him, a shadowy figure 
standing in the doorway. His hand reached for the wall switch. . .

"No. Leave it off." Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat. It was 
easier to open up to him in the anonymous darkness.

His hand hovered over the switch for a second, then dropped to his side. He 
walked over to the couch and flopped into his spot, putting his bare feet up 
on the coffee table. "Sit down, Scully. Make yourself at home." His tone was 
mocking, and she sensed his barely leashed control.

"I didn't mean to chase you away earlier, Mulder," she declared firmly, 
steeling herself for his reaction.

"No?" He snorted in derision. Even in the muted light she was able to detect 
the bitter twist to his mouth.

Moving over to the couch, Scully slid off her coat before perching uneasily 
on the edge. "I thought you understood. I needed some time to myself. . ." 
She wanted him to listen, to grasp the underlying meaning in her words.

He laughed without humor. "Oh, I do. Perfectly," he intoned bleakly, 
obviously not understanding at all. Dropping his feet to the floor, he sat 
forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" She reached out to hold his hand and was shocked when 
he recoiled from her touch.

Standing, he walked over to the desk and switched on the lamp. Turning, he 
leaned back against the wooden surface, his arms folded across his chest as 
he scrutinized her. "Nothing, Scully." He shrugged finally. "Nothing at all."

Trying to smile, she murmured, "You're certainly not making this easy for me."

"It's never been easy for us, Scully. But that's the way *we* want it," he 
stated forcefully.

Anger, white hot and intense, burned in her. "Not the way we want it, Mulder. 
Just the only way it could be," she retorted sharply, unwilling to admit to 
herself the truth in his words. Standing, she headed for the door.

"That's right. Shut me out, just like you always do," he countered harshly. 
His accusations hung in the air, taunting her like a red cape under the nose 
of a bull.

Scully stiffened, then took a tentative step toward him. "Mulder, that's not 
fair." Her mouth twisted angrily. "I came here tonight because I had 
something to tell you. . ." 

He stared at her in stony silence, and she suddenly realized the folly of the 
situation. "Forget it, Mulder." Shoulders slumped in defeat, she turned and 
again heading for the door. 

"Tell me what, Scully?" His tone was suddenly gentle, and she stopped 
abruptly. 

She couldn't face him, not like this. The tears that had been hovering so 
close to the surface all night returned, and she furtively swiped at the 
wetness on her cheeks, embarrassed by the sign of weakness.

He sighed deeply, then moved to stand directly behind her. "I'm sorry, 
Scully. Please, talk to me," he pleaded huskily, as his hands closed over her 
shoulders. He gently massaged the area, his fingers firmly working the knot 
of tension they found there. 

"When I saw Mike go down tonight, I thought of you. It could have been you, 
Mulder," she whispered brokenly, swaying under his hands.

"But it wasn't." His hands gripped her shoulders for a moment, steadying her 
before dropping away.

Scully ignored his statement. "And when Skinner told Mel, when I saw her 
face, I knew." Shuddering in remembrance, she buried her face in her hands.

"Knew what?" Ever relentless, Mulder prodded her on.

"How I would feel, if I ever lost you. . ." Scully whispered, her pain 
apparent in the tone of her voice and the trembling of her body. She 
desperately wanted to lean against him, to give in to her feelings, but her 
doubts were not easily brushed away.

"It's okay, Scully," he said softly. "I understand. It's hard to think of 
losing a. . .partner. We've worked together for so long that. . ."

"No, that's not it." She interrupted, turning to look at him. "It's more than 
that, Mulder."

"Is it?" He asked seriously. His thumb brushed across her cheek, wiping away 
a stray tear.

"You know it is." She couldn't seem to look away from him.

"Do I?" His mouth was mere inches from hers. "I'm not so sure." His arms 
snaked around her waist, pulling her against him, and she sank into him, 
grateful for his warmth and support.

"I'm afraid, Mulder," she whispered, her face tucked into his shoulder. The 
words came out muffled, but he heard her, and knew what she was saying.

"I am, too, Scully. But I'm not going anywhere." His hand stroked over her 
back, rubbing slowly across the soft cotton of her blouse until they reached 
her neck. Fingers splayed, they inched through her hair, and she shivered as 
his nails lightly scratched across her scalp.

She leaned her head back against his hand, looking up at him. He smiled and 
nodded in encouragement. She could do it, he seemed to be saying.

Slowly she removed her arms from around his waist and let them trail over his 
chest. He gasped, his breathing suddenly uneven. Her hands drifted to his 
broad shoulders, enjoying the feeling of hard muscle beneath her palms. 
Sliding across his collarbone, they settled finally, linking around his neck.

Scully closed her eyes for a second, reveling in the feeling of physical 
closeness. It felt so right. This was what she'd denied herself, and she was 
suddenly unable to remember why.

"Look at me, Scully." His voice, rough and deep, urged her on. She complied, 
seeing the slight flush across his cheeks and the brightness of his eyes.

"I love you, Mulder," she said, her voice a mere whisper. Did he hear me? She 
wondered. "I love you." This time it was uttered with the true force and 
conviction she felt.

He searched her face. "God, Scully, I've been waiting a year for you to tell 
me. I never thought you'd. . ." Smothering a nervous laugh, he asked, "You're 
not drugged, are you?" before pulling her close again. He rested his chin on 
her head as he slowly rocked her. "I've tried to show you before. . ." 

"Show me now," she murmured, looking up at him with unwavering eyes. Standing 
on tiptoe, she leaned closer, her lips parting on a sigh. His head dipped, 
and he kissed her, his lips brushing gently across her parted mouth. He 
pulled back slightly, his eyes gauging her response. She saw the suggestion 
of a smile play across his face before his mouth met hers again.

Kissing Mulder was incredible. Soft at first, feather-light and sweet as 
their lips met and parted, met and parted. Teasing little hors d'oeuvres 
kisses, designed to tempt an appetite. And when her tongue slipped out to 
move within his mouth, she marveled at the taste -- coffee and mint and 
Mulder -- and wondered if they could bottle it so she could have it whenever 
she wanted.

He was humming, or talking, or something, but the words were muffled in her 
mouth, lost in the tangle of tongues and lips. It didn't matter. Scully 
understood him perfectly. She slid her hands through his hair, pulling him 
closer, kissing him harder, answering him in the only way she was capable of 
right now.

The temperature in the room was suddenly warmer. Or is it his kisses, she 
wondered. His mouth was so hot, but she was no cowardly Goldilocks, searching 
for the cooler bowl of porridge. This *was* just right.

The poised, level headed Scully was gone, leaving this passionate creature in 
her place. She was melting, could feel her limbs growing soft and liquid. Her 
body was pliant, conforming to his, fitting against him as though made for 
just that purpose. His arousal strained against the denim, pressing into her 
eagerly, and she moaned, expelling her breath into his mouth as her hands 
linked around his neck.

The necessity to breath became imperative. He dragged his mouth away, his 
chest heaving as he sucked air into his oxygen-starved lungs. She was 
surprised to hear her own breath, harsh and labored, as she sought to regain 
a hint of control. Resting her head against his chest, she could hear the 
frantic beating of his heart, echoing her own.

Slowly, she lifted her head to gaze at him. Desire had softened his features, 
smoothing away the lines of strain. With trembling fingers, Scully touched 
him, his skin unshaven and slightly abrasive. They stroked across his cheek, 
lingering on the small mole to trace it's shape before coming to rest against 
his full lower lip. And as the dim light played over the planes of his face, 
she felt herself drawn by the look of promise in his eyes. 

She laughed, a bright bubble of sound that filled the room with its 
brilliance.

"Scully? You could give a guy a complex, you know. Most women don't laugh 
after I kiss them," he growled mockingly.

"Happy New Year, Mulder," she said, and smiled at his look of confusion.

**********

The End

Diana Battis
Feedback is appreciated -- All4Mulder@aol.com