Title:  Bedtime Stories
Author:  Polly - polly122456@yahoo.com
Rating:  PG-13
Feedback:  Welcome and appreciated
Classification:  MSR, post-episode
Spoilers:  Post "Vienen" (Season 8), and little 
references to lots of episodes
Disclaimer:  Mulder, Scully, Skinner, the Lone 
Gunmen, and Doggett, belong to CC, 1013, DD, GA, et 
al.  No money is being made - who would pay me for my 
writing?  No one I know.
Archive:  If you want it, it's yours; just let me 
know.
Notes:  Written for the Haven March Challenge to 
"Tell Us a Story"; elements at the end.  Couldn't 
find a beta, so all errors are mine; I apologize in 
advance.
Thanks:  Thanks to all those who inspire me to keep 
trying, and to Steph for her patience as I put aside 
our joint fic project to work on this first.  (I 
wasn't too mean to Doggett in her honor.)

Summary:  Mulder tells Scully a bedtime story.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

The humming was the last straw.

The day started badly and went downhill from there.  
She had initially been summoned to an early-morning 
meeting in Deputy Director Kersh's office, along with 
Mulder, Doggett, and Skinner, but that order had been 
rescinded by a phone call at 5 a.m.  Instead, she was 
to report to Quantico to conduct three autopsies, the 
first scheduled to begin at 7:30 a.m. *sharp*.  
Punishment doled out by Kersh for her insubordination 
on the Galplex Petroleum case.

That phone call was followed by one from Skinner 15 
minutes later.  He was being sent to a marathon 
budget meeting at the Justice Department, more of 
Kersh's wrath.  When Kersh told him Scully was being 
sent to Quantico for the day, he had tried to 
intervene on her behalf, he told her, citing her 
"delicate condition"; but Kersh countered that if she 
was healthy enough to conduct unauthorized autopsies, 
she was healthy enough to conduct authorized ones.

She had spoken to Mulder briefly when he and Doggett 
touched down in Galveston, learning they were both 
all right but not much else about what transpired in 
the Gulf of Mexico. They couldn't get a flight back 
to D.C. until late last nigh, so that was the last 
time she talked to him.   As she showered and dressed 
quickly in order to make it to Quantico on time, she 
wondered if Mulder and Doggett were still due in 
Kersh's office or if each had been sent on his own 
punishment detail.

By the time she returned to the Hoover in the late 
afternoon, she wanted nothing more than to find 
Mulder to dole out her own brand of punishment.  
First, she'd give him a piece of her mind for scaring 
her half to death, and then she'd show him just how 
glad she was to have him home safe and sound.  Both 
would be sheer torture, each effective in their own 
way.  When he finished begging her for mercy, she 
wanted to hear every last detail of what happened out 
on that oilrig.

She had headed toward the basement office, intent on 
propping up her swollen ankles while typing her 
preliminary autopsy findings as quickly as possible.  
Instead, she was met by a frantic Skinner who quickly 
filled her in on the details of Mulder's dismissal 
from the Bureau.  He explained that after Kersh 
happily lowered the boom, Mulder returned to the X-
Files office, spoke briefly with Agent Doggett, 
turned in his badge, gun, and cell phone to Skinner's 
assistant, and left the building.

Skinner said Doggett had tried to call Scully at 
Quantico, but her cell phone was turned off and he 
was informed she had left explicit instructions not 
to be disturbed.

She had left no such instructions, of course, and she 
swore at Kersh under her breath as she listened to 
Skinner detail the steps he had taken to locate 
Mulder, all to no avail, after returning from the 
Justice Department. Skinner was just leaving to 
conduct a personal search when he had been called to 
an emergency meeting with the Director and the 
Attorney General.  Now the search would be left up to 
her alone.

'Don't worry,' she had told Skinner.  'I'll find him.  
I'll keep you posted.'  She was sure Mulder was fine, 
just laying low, taking some time to feel sorry for 
himself and heal his wounded pride before picking 
himself up, dusting himself off, and starting all 
over again.  She was sure he wouldn't do anything 
rash or foolish.  Would he?

Her first stop had been Casey's Bar.  Mulder wasn't 
ordinarily a drinking man, but she knew he had 
frequented Casey's a time or two when the future of 
the X-Files was in jeopardy. As desperate as she was 
to find him quickly, she was relieved that no one at 
the bar had seen Mulder all day.

Next stop, the Gunmen's office in Takoma Park where 
she had hoped they weren't answering the phone at 
Mulder's insistence.  But she was dismayed to find 
them arriving in their parking lot the same time she 
did, just returning from an all day conspiratorial 
reconnaissance mission.  She waited while they 
checked voicemail and email, but no messages from 
Mulder.  As she climbed in the car, Frohike held the 
door and told her, 'We'll find him. Don't worry.'

But she *was* worried, more so as the hours passed 
with no word on Mulder's whereabouts.  In between 
calls to his answering machine and hers, she 
continued to search.

The secluded park near the Tidal Basin where they had 
picnicked and made love only a few weeks before he 
was taken.

*Their* bench beside the Reflecting Pool.

The baseball diamond where he'd taught her about the 
importance of doing unnecessary things and how to 
slap a piece of horsehide with a fine piece of ash.

All devoid of Mulder.

Just like his apartment, where the only signs of life 
were his fish gurgling happily in their aquarium and 
the frantic blinking of his answering machine.  
Nothing to indicate he had been home since leaving 
for work that morning.  Nothing to indicate where he 
might be.

So she had headed for home, a dull headache building 
behind her eyes, ready to give up the search and wait 
for him to come to her, as she knew he eventually 
would.  Wouldn't he?

Her resignation quickly turned to relief as she 
searched for a parking space and noticed a familiar 
car parked outside her building.  Her feet barely 
touched the ground as she flew toward her apartment 
door, making a mental note to modify the torturous 
agenda she had planned earlier in the day.  First she 
would comfort him, cry with him, support him, and 
love him.  *Then* she'd kill him for breaking his "no 
ditching" promise twice in three days.

All day she had feared what his reaction to this 
setback would be, but nothing prepared her for the 
sight she beheld when she opened the apartment door.

A basket of folded laundry sat on the floor beside 
the television set.  The kitchen table was set for 
two, placemats and linen napkins, a vase of fresh 
flowers in the table's center, candles standing in 
her grandmother's candlesticks, waiting to be lit.

She took some cautious steps forward and closed the 
door behind her, fearful she was in some alternate 
universe.  She peered into the kitchen and saw her 
partner standing in front of the stove, tea towel 
tossed over his shoulder, face flushed as steam rose 
from the pot he was stirring.  Spaghetti sauce was 
bubbling on the back burner, its aroma filling the 
apartment.

He had looked up as soon as he sensed her presence 
and immediately asked where she'd been.  He was 
getting worried, he said, having called Quantico and 
being told she had left hours ago.

"Where have *I* been?" she'd asked incredulously.  
"Mulder, where the hell have you been?"

He proceeded to tell her how he'd spent his day, all 
the while sipping iced tea and tending to the dinner 
he was preparing, stirring the spaghetti, adding 
dressing to the salad, and placing the garlic bread 
in the oven.

After his meeting with Kersh he had come back to her 
apartment, took a nap because he hadn't gotten much 
sleep for the past few days, then gone to the grocery 
store to pick up the ingredients so he could surprise 
her with dinner.  In the afternoon he had done three 
loads of laundry, and while waiting for the last load 
to finish in the dryer, he had organized her storage 
area in the basement.

"I figured after the baby comes we're going to have 
to move some of your things down there, to make room 
for the crib and the cradle and stuff.  I just 
thought as long as I was down there I'd get it 
organized.  You really shouldn't just toss stuff in 
there, Scully.  You'd have a lot more room if you 
just stacked it neatly."

Her mouth had been hanging open during his entire 
explanation.  He had cleaned, and cooked, and done 
laundry - concepts as alien to him as any 
extraterrestrials; he must be *really* shook.  She 
was finally able to form words, asking why he hadn't 
answered the phone when she and Skinner had called.

He slapped his forehead like a V-8 commercial.  He'd 
turned the ringer off, he said, so he could take a 
quality snooze, and he'd forgotten to turn it back 
on.  He apologized for worrying her unnecessarily, 
checked the garlic bread, and suggested she go 
change, as dinner was almost ready.

"I don't want to eat, Mulder, I want to talk about 
what happened today," she said, just as her stomach 
betrayed her with a loud growl.

"Ah, your lips say 'no-no' but your tummy says 'yes-
yes'," he replied with a twinkle in his eye.  "Go 
change, Scully.  Food first, conversation later."

She took a few steps and then turned back.  "Mulder, 
are you *sure* you're all right?" she asked.

"I'm *fine*, Scully," he said, taking hold of her 
shoulders and planting a light kiss on her lips.  
Then he spun her around and gave her a little shove 
toward the bedroom.

This was all a dream, she decided, as she slipped out 
of her tailored maternity suit and into her sweats.  
She'd probably somehow been exposed to another giant 
hallucination-inducing mushroom and this whole day 
had never happened.  Since Skinner and the Gunmen had 
been part of the dream, before returning to the 
kitchen she called them to report that Mulder had 
been found and seemed no worse for wear.  She'd have 
a good laugh about this - once she woke up.

He had been chatty and cheerful during dinner, 
excited about starting the Lamaze classes with her 
next week and anxious to go shopping for baby 
furniture.  He had deftly changed the subject each 
time she mentioned Kersh, the Bureau, or the oilrig.

He whistled as he cleared the table, suggesting she 
go get ready for bed while he loaded the dishwasher.  
If this isn't a dream, he's having a nervous 
breakdown, she thought, heading for the bedroom.

So now she sat in bed, propped up by the pillows 
behind her back, twiddling her thumbs, waiting while 
he brushed his teeth in the bathroom.

Brushing his teeth and humming.  Three Dog Night.  
'Joy to the World."

It was the last straw.

By the time he snapped off the bathroom light and 
paused by the nightstand to remove his wristwatch, 
she was loaded for bear.  But her resolve to get to 
the bottom of his uncharacteristic behavior was 
nearly undone by the sight of him.  Other than 'au 
naturel,' this was surely her favorite vision of 
Mulder:  hair spiky and damp from his quick shower, 
plaid pajama bottoms, gray tee shirt, barefoot, 
unshaven.

Nope, she would not - could not - be distracted.  She 
had to be strong.  For his sake as well as hers.  
Finally, she spoke. "Mulder, what the hell is wrong 
with you?"

"What?" he rubbed his wrist and met her stare.  "What 
do you mean?"

"Mulder, you were *fired* today.  Canned, axed, 
sacked, shown the door, handed your walking papers."

"Sounds like crap when you say it."  He sat down on 
the edge of the bed, keeping his back to her, and 
fiddled with the watch he had placed on the night 
table.

"It's not funny, Mulder," she said, punching his 
pillow and scrunching it in her lap.  "When I found 
out what happened and I couldn't find you today, I 
was terrified.  I had a thousand different scenarios 
running through my head, and they all ended badly."

"Geez, Scully, is that what you think of me?" He 
turned his upper body to face her.  "It sounds like 
you expected to find me with my head in the oven.  
Sorry if I disappointed you."

"Well, *I'm* sorry if this hurts your feelings, but I 
was more prepared to find you with your head in the 
oven than putting a loaf of garlic bread in one."  
She reached out her hand to him, but he turned back 
to face the wall.  "Mulder, I think this whole foray 
into domestic tranquility is your way of not dealing 
with your real feelings." 

"No, it's not," Mulder said, sliding into bed beside 
her.  "Just because you didn't come home to find me 
in a babbling heap on the floor doesn't mean I'm not 
dealing with my real feelings, Scully.  I'm dealing 
with my feelings just fine."

"Mulder, you're taking this lying down, and I know 
you.  Those are *not* you real feelings."  She 
reached for his hand and this time he didn't pull 
away.  "I'm not saying I expected you to fall to 
pieces, but I'll tell you what I did expect.  I 
expected anguish and distress, followed quickly by 
outrage and righteous indignation.  I expected 
ranting and raving and throwing things and vowing to 
make the bastards pay, no matter what.  Because you 
were right, Mulder.  You've been right about this 
thing all along.  And this is how they repay you for 
being right and it sucks."

He laughed out loud and a huge grin plastered across 
his face.  "Did I hear that correctly?  You said I 
was right all along?"

"Mulder, I know that you're putting up this brave 
front for my sake, and I appreciate it, I really do, 
but you don't have to."  She pulled his hand between 
both of hers and held it tight.  "Things are 
different now.  We're not alone in this anymore.  
Skinner and Doggett, they've both seen what we've 
seen.  We can fight this, Mulder.  We can get your 
job back."

"I don't want my job back, Scully."

She looked at him as if he'd grown another head.  
"What?"

"I don't want my job back.  I've been thinking about 
this for the last few weeks, since you were in the 
hospital."  He glanced down, gathering his thoughts, 
then looked her straight in the eye.  "I didn't tell 
you because I wasn't sure before, but now I am.  
Kersh did me a favor today, though I'd never let him 
know that.  Saved me from typing up my resignation.  
I just thought I'd let him have his jollies, didn't 
want to rain on his parade.  My last act of goodwill 
as a federal employee."

Scully frowned.  "But I don't understand.  Why?  Why 
now?  After everything we've ... why?"

"Because of something that happened to me out on that 
oilrig.  It made things crystal clear."

"Okay, that settles it," Scully pushed herself up 
straighter in the bed.  "I want to hear exactly what 
happened on your little pleasure cruise and I want to 
hear it *right* now."

"Not tonight, Scully," Mulder said.  "You've been on 
your feet all day.  You're beat.  We'll have plenty 
of time to talk about it later."

"No way, Mulder.  We're going to talk about it now.  
I'm not that tired.  And besides, I couldn't sleep 
now even if I wanted to." She rubbed her hands across 
her belly and winced slightly.  "The baby has decided 
to play kickball from one side of my uterus to the 
other."

"Not kickball.  Basketball," Mulder said, spreading 
his fingers over her stomach.  "He knows that the 
Knicks are playing the Lakers later tonight and 
Daddy's gonna get up and watch.  I'd invite you and 
Junior to join me, but you need your rest, Scully.  
You're sleeping for two, now."

She flashed a mocking smile.  "I think it's more 
likely that 'Junior' is reacting to the three pieces 
of garlic bread I had for dinner, thank you very 
much, Martha Stewart."

"Hey, I don't remember holding a gun to your head," 
Mulder began drawing small circles on her tummy with 
his fingertip.  "Besides, I don't have one any more."

"Seriously, Mulder, let's hear it."

He stopped the stomach massage and slid down in the 
bed, opening his arms to invite her in.  She complied 
willingly, spooning up against him with a small sigh 
as he pulled the covers over them.  "Not sleepy, huh?  
Well, then I think I should tell you a little bedtime 
story."

"Mulder, I don't want to hear a bedtime story.  I 
want to hear what happened out there."

He squeezed her tighter and whispered in her ear.  
"Well, if you sit back, relax, and listen carefully, 
Scully, you might get lucky and get two for the price 
of one."

She raised an eyebrow just slightly and settled back 
against his chest, the steady beat of his heart 
thumping softly in her ear.  Hard to believe only a 
few short months ago she thought she'd never hear 
that heartbeat again.

"Okay, Father Goose.  I'm all ears."

He chuckled a bit and began the story.

"Once upon a time there was a brave and gallant 
knight, Sir Mulder of Hooverland.  He was known as 
Mulder the Fox because he was not only sly and 
cunning, but astoundingly handsome and charming as 
well."

"And modest."

"Shh ... no interrupting.  Yes, he was incredibly 
modest.  The modest-est in the land.  The good people 
of Hooverland knew him as the Tireless Crusader, 
Champion of Lost Causes, Friend to the Friendless, 
Seeker of the Truth."

"Are you sure his name wasn't Sir Mulder of Hubris-
land?"

"If you keep interrupting, you won't hear the story," 
he said in a singsong voice.

"Okay, okay," she apologized.  "Proceed."

"Let's see ... where was I ... oh yeah.  It was a 
dark and dismal time in Hooverland.  The kingdom was 
under the rule of the evil dictator Alvin the Awful, 
a despicable man who governed with an iron fist and 
who made it his personal mission to thwart Sir Mulder 
and his theories and beliefs at every turn.  Now, 
because of his incredible intellect and highly 
developed intuitive senses, Sir Mulder suspected that 
danger was lurking nearby ..."

He ignored the snort from the woman filling his arms.

"... and he prepared to depart straightaway to 
investigate and gather more evidence in his search 
for the truth."

"But King Alvin took great pleasure in denying Sir 
Mulder this opportunity.  Ordinarily, Sir Mulder 
would have taken this decision in stride because the 
investigation would have been in the good hands of 
his beautiful partner, the one he loved the most in 
all the world and the one who completed him and made 
him a whole person."

He paused for a moment to kiss Scully's hair.

"Her name was Lady Starbuck St. Scully.  She was as 
ravishing as she was brilliant, sagacious yet 
enigmatic, and she had a dazzling smile that she 
saved only for her beloved Sir Mulder.  The day that 
she joined Sir Mulder's quest was the best day of his 
life; and even though he sometimes led her into 
danger, or worse yet, made the mistake of leaving her 
behind without a word, she remained steadfastly by 
his side.  And sometimes when he'd been beaten and 
battered, or when he came crawling back from one of 
the adventures he undertook without her, or when he 
just wanted to quit, it was her faith and her smile 
that kept him going.  And he should have told her 
that more often."

She sniffled.  "Mulder ..."

"But this time, Lady Starbuck could not pick up the 
gauntlet for the love of her life as she was heavy 
with child, the product of their perfect union, 
preparing to bear the fruit of his loins ..."

Scully brushed away a tear and laughed.  "I thought 
bedtime stories were supposed to be 'G' rated."

"Whoever told you that?" Mulder purred, pulling her 
tighter.  "I'll try to keep this one PG-13, but if 
you keep wiggling over certain *areas* like that, I'm 
not making any promises."

"I can't help it," she replied, placing a hand on her 
stomach.  "This bedtime story is having no effect on 
settling down the 'fruit of your loins'."

Mulder placed his hand over hers.  "Hey, kid, chill.  
The story's just getting interesting."

Scully and Mulder smiled in unison as the flutter 
under their fingers stopped abruptly.  Scully 
entwined her hand with his and he brought it to his 
lips, grazing her knuckles with a feather light kiss.  
"I think that's your cue to continue, Sir Mulder."

Mulder picked up the story with renewed vigor.  "King 
Alvin was obligated to dispatch someone to quell the 
tempest that had been stirred by Sir Mulder, and he 
wanted it done as quickly and quietly as possible.  
So he decided to send Sir Mulder's apprentice, Squire 
Doggett, to do the deed.  Now Squire Doggett was a 
trustworthy and capable knight in training, but he 
was close-minded and suffered from a disturbing lack 
of imagination.  He was known throughout Hooverland 
for his stubbornness and taciturn ways - and for his 
oddly gigantic ears."

"Mulder ..." Scully interrupted again.  "Stop picking 
on Agent Doggett's ears.  It's not very nice ... and 
besides, that's significant how?"

"I was just trying to be thorough," he quipped, "and 
besides, it's important later in the story."

"Well, he wouldn't make fun of your nose," she said.

"You know what they say about the size of a man's 
nose, Scully.  And his feet."  He rubbed one foot 
along her bare leg as if to illustrate the point.  "I 
don't believe I've ever heard that same comparison 
made about the size of a man's ears ..."

"PG-13, Mulder."

"Right."  He shook his head sadly.  "Pity.  Anyway, 
armed with his assignment, Squire Doggett set out 
from the land of Hoover not knowing that Sir Mulder 
was already en route to their destination.  And at 
that point, little did anyone dream that it would be 
the beginning of the end."

"Time out.  Intermission.  Hold that thought," Scully 
said, tossing the covers back and scooting her 
cumbersome form out of bed.

"What's wrong?"

"Bathroom," she explained.  "The 'fruit of your 
loins' has stopped playing basketball but is now 
sitting on my bladder.  I'll be right back."

When she returned, he was flat on his back, arms 
outstretched, and she was afraid he had fallen 
asleep.  But as soon as the bed dipped from her 
weight he opened his eyes and smiled, propped himself 
on one elbow, and waited for her to spoon up against 
him again, then tucked the covers around them.  
"Comfy?"

"Very," she said.  "I feel much better.  You were 
saying ... 'the beginning of the end' ..."

Mulder stroked the back of her hands as he talked. 
"After their journey, Sir Mulder and Squire Doggett 
found themselves face to face with their nemesis:  A 
great white whale known as Galplex Orpheus.  Sir 
Mulder suspected that the great whale had been 
infected with a virus, placing all of mankind at risk 
if the whale were to come ashore.  But Squire Doggett 
refused to believe, preferring to spend his time 
initiating pissing contests with Sir Mulder to prove 
he was in charge rather than uncovering the truth."

Scully smiled, picturing these two alpha males 
posturing and preening, each trying to establish 
dominance.  But Mulder's voice quickly brought her 
back to the story.

"Thanks to the tireless efforts of Lady Starbuck, 
working behind the scenes at great personal risk to 
herself and her reputation, Sir Mulder's theories 
about the great white whale were proved correct.  So 
Lady Starbuck set out to find a way to slay the whale 
without sacrificing Sir Mulder and Squire Doggett in 
the process."

Scully's smile turned to a frown, remembering 
Mulder's comment to 'tell the kid he went down 
swinging.'  How close had she really come to losing 
him again?  She didn't want to think about it.

"Meanwhile," Mulder continued, "Squire Doggett 
finally opened his mind to extreme possibilities when 
he was nearly infected by the black oil."

"What?"  She leaned forward and turned her head to 
look at him over her shoulder.  "Why didn't you 
mention that before?"

"Relax, he's all right," Mulder said, pulling her 
back against him.  "Thanks to the quick thinking and 
fast action of Sir Mulder, that is.  Now, it was 
about this same time that Sir Mulder figured out 
exactly what was going on aboard the Galplex Orpheus, 
and realized that the great white whale was about to 
be destroyed - taking himself and Squire Doggett 
along with it."

"But thanks to Lady Starbuck, a rescue effort was 
underway and Sir Mulder and Squire Doggett were 
saved," Scully interjected.

"Who's telling this story?" Mulder asked, planting a 
kiss on her temple.  "True, a rescue effort was 
afoot, but Sir Mulder couldn't be sure that help 
would arrive in time.  And as the great white whale 
started to disintegrate under his feet, he had but a 
single thought."

"Which was?" Scully asked when he paused.

He held her tighter and buried his head in her 
shoulder.  "He thought he would never get to see his 
child and his child's mother again."

"Oh, Mulder ..." She turned her head slightly and 
raised her hand to cup his cheek.

His voice was now soft and intimate.  "You see, as 
the flames and explosions surrounded him, Sir Mulder 
realized that for the first time in his life he 
wasn't thinking about losing the evidence that he had 
worked so hard to find.  He wasn't thinking about 
government conspiracies or the annihilation of the 
human race.  He was thinking that he'd never get the 
chance to look into his child's eyes.  That he'd 
never get the chance to kiss Lady Starbuck one more 
time and tell her how much he loved her."

He bent forward to place his lips on hers, lightly 
but sweetly, and he lingered there a long time before 
breaking the contact.

"And at that moment, Sir Mulder made a promise to 
himself that if he escaped the inferno, he would lay 
down his sword and shield, strip off his suit of 
armor, and devote the rest of his life to his 
family."

Scully smiled and blinked back tears, taking his hand 
in hers.  "Is that the end?"

"Not quite," Mulder said, pulling her back to rest 
against his chest again.  "So Sir Mulder and Squire 
Doggett slew the white whale, in a manner of 
speaking, and they did escape unscathed, even though 
Sir Mulder was still hoping to get that peg leg that 
he'd longed for since childhood.  And as they made 
their way home, Sir Mulder conceded that Squire 
Doggett had proven himself to be a worthy if somewhat 
skeptical successor to the quest for the truth.  But 
Sir Mulder remembered an important lesson that Lady 
Starbuck had taught him: sometimes even *skeptical* 
people are worth the effort."

Scully smiled a satisfied smile and nodded.

"Not to mention the fact that Sir Mulder was 
astounded by Squire Doggett's resourcefulness, as he 
fashioned his humongous ears into giant sails to 
catch a tailwind and help them return to Hooverland 
that much sooner."

"Mulder ..."

"Hey, I *told* you the ears were important," he 
laughed.  "So the vanquished heroes returned to the 
Land of Hoover where Sir Mulder had his armor 
stripped for him and had his sword and shield, not to 
mention his cell phone, taken away.  But he left with 
his head held high, shaking the hand of the heir 
apparent, reminding *Sir* Doggett that the truth was 
still out there and it was now his job to find it.  
Now would you like to know the moral of the story?"

"Oh, there's a moral?" Scully asked.

"Of course," Mulder replied.  "Every great tale has a 
moral.  The moral of this story is that sometimes you 
can spend your whole life looking for something.  
Your journey may take you far and wide - to the ends 
of the earth even.  But one day you'll wake up to 
discover that the thing you've been looking for has 
been right in your own backyard the whole time."

He was whispering in her ear again.  "You see, 
Scully, out there on that rig, I found something I 
thought I'd lost ..."

Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered those 
words he had spoken to her such a long time ago; it 
seemed like a lifetime.  In many ways, it *was* a 
lifetime.

"... My way.  I found my way, Scully.  Remember when 
I first came back I told you that I didn't know where 
I fit in?  Well, now I know.  It's right here.  I 
finally experienced firsthand what Arthur Dales tried 
to tell me.  That at some point it's no longer 
important to unlock the heart of the mystery.  It's 
important to unlock the mystery of the heart.  That's 
what I learned out on that rig and that's why I had 
decided to quit if Kersh hadn't beaten me to the 
punch.  I want to spend the rest of my life following 
my heart, Scully.  I want to spend the rest of my 
life with you, if you'll have me."

She kissed his fingertips.  "That's what I want too, 
Mulder."

"Are you sure?  I'm out of work now, you know.  A 
bum."

"But a lovable bum," she countered.  "Maybe you could 
be a kept man."

"Oooh, I like the sound of that." He arched his 
eyebrows and gave her a lascivious smile.

"I mean, who knew that you had such a talent for 
cooking and cleaning?  It might be kind of nice to 
get home from work and have dinner on the table every 
night ..."  She giggled at his crestfallen 
expression.  "And of course, I can think of lots of 
other 'chores' to keep you occupied, primarily in the 
bedroom."

He laughed lustfully.  "Heh, heh, heh.  In that case, 
I might be willing to put in lots of overtime," he 
said.  "But I don't do windows."

"I think that's a deal I can live with," she replied, 
and turned slightly to look up at him.  "I know it's 
a little soon, but have you thought at all about what 
you want to do?"

"I'm not sure, but I did think about it a lot today," 
his voice brightened and he looked hopeful as he 
ticked off the possibilities.  "I could teach, you 
know?  Or conduct seminars.  Maybe courses in 
criminal justice or even in the paranormal as it 
relates to law enforcement.  Think of all the cases 
nowadays that deal with spiritualism, the occult, 
that kind of stuff."

She nodded in agreement, pleased with his enthusiasm.

"Or I could write a book, Scully.  You'll be my muse.  
I could write about us - our experiences on the X-
Files."

"As long as you promise me it'll never be made into a 
movie," Scully said.  "I can't go through that kind 
of embarrassment again."

He laughed.  "You know, I could write freelance 
articles for magazines or journals.  I've done it 
before.  And if I did that, I could be a stay-at-home 
Dad and take care of Junior after you go back to 
work."

"Would you really want to do that?" she asked.

"I think I might like that, actually," he nodded.  
"I've also been giving some thought to applying for a 
part-time job with the National Center for Missing 
and Exploited Children.  Despite being fired from my 
last position, I think I'd have a lot to offer them - 
my skills as a profiler and FBI agent, and my 
personal experience in that particular area.  I 
couldn't help Samantha, but maybe I could help other 
kids."

"Oh, Mulder, I think that would be wonderful," Scully 
said.  "And I know Skinner would give you an 
excellent recommendation.  And I'll support whatever 
decision you make 100 percent."

He placed another kiss in her hair.  "I think we'll 
be all right financially for awhile.  It's time for 
me to get off my duff and unload those properties 
that the folks left me.  That'll tide us over until I 
can find something.  I know this is right, Scully.  I 
can feel it in my heart."

"You're sure?  No regrets?" she asked.

"None."

"Don't you even want to get any of your personal 
things out of your office?  Your awards, your plaques 
..."

He shook his head.  "That stuff doesn't matter to 
me."

"What about your poster?" she questioned.  "Your 'I 
Want to Believe' poster?  Don't you even want that?"

"I *already* believe," he replied.  "I think I should 
leave it there to inspire future generations.  Maybe 
it'll remind Agent Doggett to think outside the box 
once in awhile."

"Okay," she said.  "But what about your basketball?  
Don't you want that?"

"No, I think I should leave that there to inspire 
Agent Doggett too.  Maybe he'll take up a real 
sport."

When she looked at him quizzically, he explained.  
"Agent Doggett likes *NASCAR*, can you believe that?  
Auto racing - that's not a real sport."

"So it seems you and Agent Doggett bonded while you 
were out on that rig, huh?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly," Mulder said 
thoughtfully.  "Maybe I respect him a little more, 
maybe he respects me a little more.  We didn't try to 
drown each other.  I'd say that's progress."

She giggled again and then tried unsuccessfully to 
suppress a yawn.

"Aha, I see that my bedtime story has done the 
trick!" he exclaimed, reaching over to turn off the 
bedside lamp.  As he lay down again, Scully managed 
to turn her bulk to face him, and rested her head on 
his shoulder.

"Better than warm milk, Mulder.  Goodnight," she 
said, kissing the scar on his chest where she'd shot 
him - something else that happened a lifetime ago.

"Wait a minute," Mulder said before she drifted off.  
"I forgot the most important part of the bedtime 
story."

"What's that?" she asked sleepily, another yawn 
escaping.

"And they lived happily ever after."

She smiled and was silent for a time, slipping her 
fingers under his tee shirt and running them over the 
coarse hair on his chest.  Finally she spoke again.  
"Do you really think we can, Mulder?"

"Can what?" he asked, on the brink of sleep himself.

"Live happily ever after?"

"I sure want to try, Scully," he replied.  
"Goodnight.  I love you." He pressed his lips against 
her forehead and she snuggled closer.

"I love you too, Mulder," she whispered.  
"Goodnight."

He had just closed his eyes again when a sleepy voice 
beside him filtered through the darkness.

"And remember, Sir Mulder.  You may not have a cell 
phone or a peg leg or a job for that matter, but 
you'll always be my knight in shining armor."

He sighed contentedly, and a smile formed on his 
lips.  The woman he loved was in his arms, he could 
feel their unborn child moving between them, and he 
was preparing to embark on a new chapter in his life.  
Trying not to disturb Scully, he reached over and 
turned off the alarm he had set on his wristwatch.  
There would be other Knicks games.  Tonight, he 
didn't want this fairytale to end.

Finis

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Haven March Challenge Elements:
Tell us a story - folktale, urban legend, myth, 
fairytale - it can be anything or everything
Something or someone getting, being, or becoming 
organized
Whales
Torture
A Muse
Hubris
A Heart