Rating: NC-17
Classification: MSR, Post Truth/post-ep
Spoilers: Night Flight--an MSR vignette by diehard
Summary: Life on the run and a change in attitude
Keywords: outlaw love, blacktop, open-air, a final goodbye


---lovely beta by sallie

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Part 1

They're about an hour away from Tierra Amarilla,
Scully's hungry, it's still New Mexico, and they've
been on the road since 7 am this morning. It's close
to noon on a Sunday and the blacktop's been deserted.
Today's sun has zapped the remains of last night's
torrential rain, drying the pavement, the desert sand
and canyon walls---their slate is clean literally and
figuratively in the hot shimmer of this new day.

All is bright and red-gold, a perfect backdrop for the
two of them to speed their way toward a storage locker
in Alamosa, CO--they're an infinitesimal blip on the cosmic
radar screen---anonymous, suggestive of possibilities--
new arrivals in the world of aliases. David Stern and
Delia Connor, that's who they are today. They left with
three sets of ID's, three sets of ATM and credit cards, a
Beretta and Ruger 9mm for each of them--with clips,
which they keep hidden in the bottom of their duffels.
For old time's sake, each of them is wearing a Walther PPK,
his in his leg holster, hers shoved into her bootleg. Today's
destination is where the Gunmen deposited three more
sets of ID's, et al, and a large sum of cash, all in small
denominations, all unmarked bills.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And so the odyssey begins.

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They were able to make the strategic choice of identity
last night---somewhere in between Mulder's tongue tattooing
his initials inside the circle on her back and her
treating his favorite sore and aching muscle with a long,
slow application of her lips.

This morning, they feel like they're nobody and anybody,
but if anyone asks, they're Stern and Connor, and in a
hurry to get nowhere special. It's a good thing that today
there's a long drive to help them get caught up to their
new selves. Less than eight hours ago they were two
people named Mulder and Scully and tonight, in bed,
that's who they'll be again. As the road slips underneath
them and the sun beats down on stretches of sand and
sparse vegetation, they toss out job histories, and
how-they-met stories---it's their new driving game.

He's wearing his usual black T-shirt and jeans and some
sunglasses. What's surprising here is how she's dressed.
She's a match for him, jeans, white tank, hair tousled by
the wind, no makeup, freckles visible.

On the way out of Roswell, he stopped to gas up at
'Miles to Go'--they were the only ones in the deserted station.
People were either still bed or at early church services.
Mulder ran into the station to pay, swaggering out several
long minutes later with something behind his back.
Standing with her back against the car door, she's
eyeing him up and down, watching the desert morning
cast a halo around his long, lean figure. Scully continues
to watch, transfixed as his everyday mojo begins
working on her.

"You are one sexy SOB." She can barely believe
what's just come out of her mouth. She has no ability
to self-edit around him anymore, no desire to do it.

"It's about time you started saying things like that."

She's struck with how different she is, what a
contradiction she's become. Scully's sure he knows it, too.
Last night, instead of shrouding herself in grief over a life
over, she was thrilled to start a new one with him. Today,
instead of fear as she faces life on the run, she feels
liberated. In a personal revelation it occurs to her that
this transformation doesn't need scrutiny; it needs her
to go with it. Mulder was always better at accepting
strange and unusual occurrences, it's time she got
with the program.

"Sexiness notwithstanding, you took your sweet time."
Not everything from their former lives has disappeared,
somebody's got to keep him on his toes.

"I would hope you'd be able to overlook that; I've got
something for you."

Closing the gap, Mulder presses himself against her,
and slams his free hand on the hood of the car, pinning
her in place. Keeping the other behind his back,
he dazzles her with his dexterity, nudging aside
her hair with his nose, kissing and biting the side
of her neck.

"What...did you...have...?" Her question dissolves into
a small, shivery sound in the back of her throat.

He pulls away, smiling, triumphant, and proffers his
gift with a flourish. Sliver framed wire sunglasses,
with little round lenses. He puts them on her slowly,
and watches her smile as loops each earpiece behind
those shell ears, lets his hands trail down her arms
once he's finished.

"You're going incognito, Outlaw."

" 'Incognito' as in your criminal accomplice?"

"That happened a long time ago."

He kisses her hand, and starts to turn away,
but she stops him, pulls his hand up to her lips
and kisses his knuckles. Looking up at his surprise,
she gifts him with a smile inscrutable.

Now it's her turn to brand him.

"Get in that car and start driving, Outlaw."

And he does.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Now they're on the outskirts what the map says is
Tierra Amarilla---a scattering of adobe houses, a post
office, a dry goods store-cum-gas station, calling it
an actual town seems like false advertising. Mulder
tosses his sunglasses into the backseat to get a better
look---what's caught his attention is a squat, square
tin-roofed shack with a large, hand-lettered sign---
Chavita's Casita No hay comida mejor! She pushes
her wire rims down the bridge of her nose, shoots him
a look as he pulls off the road and into the red dirt
parking lot.

"C'mon, Scully. We can't pass up a dare." He winks
at her from the rear-view mirror.

"I'd like to pass up dysentery, thanks." She smirks
at him, but gets out of the car anyway. It strikes her
that they'll be eating at a lot of places like this,
so she decides to drop the resistance. Mulder's wrapped
his arm around her waist, sashaying her through the door.
Besides, a large brown-skinned woman with a long black
braid and a gold tooth has come to the door and is
waving them in.

It's a tiny diner--there's a red formica counter with five
stools, and three tables covered in checked oilcloth, each
flanked with rickety looking wooden chairs. But despite the
less than luxurious decor, Chavita's is spotless. Scully's
glad she didn't nag him out of stopping here, the smells
coming from the grill and stove in a little alcove are
making her mouth water. Scents of garlic, onion, crispy
pork and toasted corn tortillas entice them, hang heavy
in the air.

"Pasen, pasen, por favor...please have a seat." She
guides them to the table nearest the door, fussing over
the paper napkins, the silverware. They're the only
customers in this down-home oasis.

Mulder pulls out her chair, and as Scully's settles in, he
whispers in her ear, "Never doubt my judgment."

As the woman goes behind the counter to get glasses of
water, she whispers back, "About food, anyway," casting
a sly look his direction.

He reaches for her under the table, rubs her thigh,
keeps rubbing it as drinks are set on the table.
Chavita asks him if he's got a good appetite.

"Always," he answers with a shit-eating grin, and
Scully blushes as she takes off her sunglasses.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The food keeps coming and coming and the two
of them eat their fill. Bowls of pozole, squash blossoms
stuffed with queso chihuahua, and pork and green
chile tamales, and they're loving every bite. Chavita
tries to offer them a shot of tequila, but they opt for
strong, black coffee. They make small talk with her,
ask her about her family---she has six kids and eleven
grandkids. They talk about the scenery, the weather,
and they are very, very careful to call each other
David and Delia.

As soon as they finish, the dishes are cleared away,
and their host starts washing up at the tiny sink
in the rear. She looks back over her shoulder at
the two of them. Nice people, she thinks.

They're finishing the last of their coffee and Mulder
decides he's going to tell her. But before he does,
he takes a mental snapshot of this moment. She's
looking out the window, a small smile gracing her
features. Holding her cup with both hands, she sips
her coffee with eyes closed, her breath slow and steady.
In this perfect snippet of time, her utter trust in him
is naked and he feels an ache on the left side
of his chest just about where his heart is.

They have ten years, and they'll either save the world
or go up in flames, and her words from last night echo
in his mind, 'You're mine.'

No matter what happens, that's enough.

He clears his throat, and she opens her eyes.

"I have some thing to tell you."

"OK, shoot."

"Remember last night, what I said?"

She regards him thoughtfully, "We both said some things.
I haven't changed my mind about anything..."

He cuts her off, "No, I haven't either...I never will.
It's about getting messages, about how if we didn't know
how to save ourselves..." Mulder's sure he's rambling now,
his voice trails off. He wants to cut to the chase, but telling
Scully he's a conduit to the spirit world is seeming more
surreal by the second.

"Please, just tell me."

He leans in, "I can listen for messages because they're
talking to me, Scully. The dead are not lost to us.
They've been telling me things for a while."

She blinks once, twice, then swallows.
"What kind of things?"

She gets the Cliff Notes version, but it's enough for her
to understand that Krycek and X and the Gunmen have
all had hand in keeping him alive.

"What do you think?" He looks her dead in the eye,
expecting her to give him some rationale for all of it,
some explanation. Post-traumatic stress. Hallucination
resulting from sensory deprivation and torture.

He doesn't get what he expected.

"I think I need to tell you something. I still see Emily.
Not often, but I see her, I talk to her." Eyes bright, she
keeps meeting his gaze, goes for his hand, holds on tight.
"Looks like we have something else in common."

That just about does him in. He feels his jaw drop open.

Her free hand goes to the side of his face, "We should
get going. Go pay the nice lady."


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The mood has shifted from this morning and silence
fills the car. It'll be a good three hours before they reach
Alamosa. Scully's been studying the map for the last
few minutes and Mulder wonders what she's really thinking,
her expression is too serious for Rand McNally and the
quickest route through Northern New Mexico.
Glancing at her, he sees how tightly her features
are drawn. He knows that look---she's working through
something and she'll tell him when she's ready.

He wonders if it's Emily or William that preoccupies her,
or something as banal as what bare-bones motel they'll
be in tonight. He regrets silencing her when she tried to
tell him about Seraphim and the first time her dead
daughter appeared. There are no words to describe
what he feels knowing she had to give up their son,
knowing he couldn't stop it. It churns his gut enough to
make him rupture the silence.

"I'm sorry you couldn't tell me about Emily before. I'm
sorry I wasn't ready to believe..."

"You don't need to apologize Mulder. Not to me."
She lays down the map, takes off her sunglasses
and places them carefully on the dash. "There was so
much I couldn't believe, wouldn't believe...We both denied
what we just couldn't handle." She's guessing what he'll
say next and she wants to stop him---tell him she doesn't
blame him, she never did, and she doesn't blame herself
anymore, either.

And there's something she needs to do, that they both
need to do, but he starts talking before she can let him
know, his voice raspy and deep.

"What about William, Scully? What about me
not being there, for you or for him?"

"You're alive, and our son's safe. The two things
I kept praying for came true." She slides close to him,
and whispers, "I have what I need."

"I think ..."

"You think too much, Mulder." She takes his
right hand from the steering wheel, presses it
against her chest. There's another long patch of
silence, but it's different, lighter somehow.

"I noticed something on the map I want to see.
It should be a left up ahead." She lets go of his hand.

"Are you going tell me what, exactly, it is?"
He takes his eyes off the road long enough to catch
her slipping on her shades.

"I'm an outlaw, I don't have to explain anything."

"So, it's do what you say and keep my mouth shut, eh?"

"Now you're gettin' it."

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They've pulled off onto what under only the kindest
circumstances could be called a side road. Clear
stretch of dirt is more like it, and the car kicks up a
huge amount of red-brown dust and sand. Scrub cactus
and scraggly trees dot the route--here's a small sign--Ojo
de Dios--5 miles. Scully checks the pocket of her jeans--
it's there, and she can do it soon. Mulder has to be with
her and it has to be today, and Ojo de Dios is clearly
divine intervention telling her where it should all go down.

She can see what looks like small observation deck
made of stone slabs dead ahead. Just beyond that it looks
like there's a drop off, a canyon maybe. An ancient mugo
pine stands about fifty feet away from this makeshift
platform, its giant arms casting the only shade for miles.
Mulder pulls up close, throws the car into park and
they sit in the silence.

He reaches for her hand, his thumb stroking her wrist,
waiting for her, waiting for what's going to happen next.

This was her idea, so she starts to open the car door,
"C'mon Mulder, there's something I need to do."

"Scully, you gonna let me in on why we're here?"

She takes off those wire rims, she wants to see
everything in the full light of day. "I will, I promise...
but let's take a look at Ojo de Dios first, " and with that,
she's out the door and he's right behind her.

She's guessed correctly---it's a canyon, a sharp drop
down, a couple of thousand feet down, sheer red rock
walls. The sun burns bright, she can feel the
sweat between her shoulder blades. A hot desert
wind kicks up, blowing her hair back from her face,
stirring the pale sand and red dirt under their feet.
The two of them move to the edge of this sandstone
perch and are stunned as they see what they came to see.
Ojo de Dios is the entire canyon floor, just like the yarn
talismans in the pueblos here--a giant web cut into rock
by millennia, by the wind and waters of time.

Ojo de Dios is a well of souls.

Scully feels something surge inside her, something
magnificent, as the image of the canyon floor washes
over her. This is where God is, she thinks.

Mulder moves to stand behind her, his breath
taken away by how huge the view and the knowledge
she's his religion, his path, his doorway to knowing
anything and everything transcendent.

He holds himself back, doesn't question her
despite the need to know---the trust he saw on
her face in the diner is the trust she needs from him
now---he'll give it.

The wind keeps blowing and whirling all around them,
Scully reaches into her pocket and pulls out a photo.
It's William. It's the only thing she has left of him,
and now it's time to let him go completely. She pulls
it out of her pocket, holds it up so Mulder can see and
whispers, "Goodbye, Sweetpea. I love you." She
moves to toss it over the edge but Mulder's hand's
shoots out, and he grabs one side of the picture.

"No, wait a minute, not like this. He was my son, too.
We do this together." He comes around, stands at
her side, never letting go of the precious image.
She sees the tears streaming down, streaking
the dust on his face. He holds up the other half for her
to take like he's found the treasure inside a Thanksgiving
turkey.

"Here," his voice cracking, "Pull, Scully."

The picture tears and he gets the larger half. She's crying
now too. The tears flow, flow like a river, flow silent, flow free.
She's not an outlaw at the moment, she's a mother
standing in the middle of nowhere with the father
of her son and they're releasing him to his life, to the future.
It'll be their job to try and make it one worth living for.

"Make a wish Mulder...go ahead."

And they each start shredding their halves until
they have a small pile of confetti in their hands.

"Ready?" He asks her and she nods. Mulder closes
his eyes and makes ready.

There's a sharp uptake of air and they toss the tiny
pieces up and out and away. The wind is merciful and
scatters the miniscule scraps deep into the eye of God.

"What did you wish for?" She tries to staunch her
tears, but they keep coming. She thinks she'll
surrender and cry for a while; she's earned it.

"That we never see him again." He makes sure they face
each other so he can look deep into her eyes, it strikes him
they're the same blue as the sky. He smiles when she smiles.
She understands what he meant---if they see him again it's
because something's gone wrong, end-of-the-world wrong.

"What else?" She starts to wipe her tear stained face,
but he stops her so he can finish the job himself.
"What else did you wish for him?" Her voice is breathy,
but not broken.

He's not crying anymore, "That he has an ordinary life,
that he knows love...and finds someone to love..."
Leaning in, he kisses her---tastes her tears, her sweetness,
her strength.

He meant it to comfort her, to comfort both of them, but
the feel of her full lips against his, the sough of her breath
quickly turns comfort into something else. Even in the midst
of this, he wants her---he urges her mouth open, almost
surprised when it's so easy to do. He's kissing her hard now
and clutching her head his hands and they're breathing
raggedly into each other. She's still crying, softly now, and
her tongue's touching the flat of his teeth. He feels red heat
in his chest, the sun in his belly and the burn of arousal's
made him hard.

Suddenly, she pulls herself away, looks up at him,
"Is this a mercy fuck?" She doesn't think so, but she wants
to hear it, wants to know that they're both grabbing at the
chance to turn sorrow into something else.

"I wasn't planning on showing you any mercy."
He takes her hand and puts it on his crotch.

"Oh, Mulder..." Now she's stroking him and laughing
and crying and coming undone so he can put her back
together. "Only you can make me feel this crazy."

"Give me a couple of minutes, and you'll be feeling
something else, I promise."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He backs her away from the stone ledge, making
his way to the shade and imaginary shelter of the pine tree.
The only sounds they hear are the wind, their footfalls
on rock, then soft shuffle in the dirt, softer still as
they come to stand on a bed of pine needles.

Hands in her hair, his fingers press into her scalp and
his mouth and tongue are devouring her---her lips, her neck,
her shoulder---he can't get enough---he can't---even though
she's grinding into him, grabbing handfuls of his T-shirt.

"We're stronger than all this," his breathes in her ear.

"Stronger," she answers.

He's pressing so close that no light passes between them,
and now it's her turn to feast on him. She kisses him, kisses
him over and over wherever her mouth finds skin--his jaw,
face, neck. He's got her propped against the tree, and now
she's chanting his name and the sound of his name on
her lips is undoing him and he answers her the only way he
knows how. His hands push up her tank, and he presses his
warm, open mouth over her heart, slides her down into the pile
of soft needles.

Hovering over her, he leans back enough for her to pull
off her shirt, then shudders as she does the same to him.
Making circles within circles---like time, like forever, he strokes
her breasts under the fabric of the bra, he takes her nipples
between his thumb and forefinger and teases them softy, slowly.
Scully's eyelids flutter, but she makes herself keep watching,
she wants to remember everything, wants to see a brave
new world in the green of his eyes.

He's starting to feel giddy, but he can't laugh, it's not like that.
He's high, he's thrumming, the blood's pounding his ears,
his whole body's pulsing, and his cock is rock-solid against
her thigh. Leaning in, he takes one hand away to undo the
front clasp of her bra and starts licking her, the same circles,
but wet, so wet. Taking the slowest path, he feels her tremble,
and when he closes his lips around a nipple, her hands fly
to the back of his head, holding him in place. But he won't
be held, he moves back and forth, each breast, each nipple
licked and kissed until he hears her plead, "I need to
touch you."

He rears back again and she rises, and softly bites her way
across his chest, steadying herself by holding on to his arms.
She tests a nipple, suckles it, and he starts breathing hard.
Taking the tip of her tongue, Scully begins a torturous path
down the plane of his stomach, moving her hands to latch
around his hipbones.

Mulder fumbles his zipper open and she takes her hand,
pushes down his jeans and takes him into her mouth in a hot,
sweet plunge. He's all at once stiff and smooth and the head
of his cock feels satiny under the swirl of her ready mouth.
She tastes salt and bitter drops, and he starts to slow his pace,
trying to tame his advance and retreat.

He knows he close, she knows it more.

She's getting wetter by the minute, aching for his mouth on her clit,
the way he feasts on her, feathery sweeps of lips and tongue and
kisses on slick wet folds, the way he drinks her, savors her.
All of a sudden, he stops her, eases slowly away, and whispers,
"I want to make you come...I want to crawl inside you."

Easing her back onto soft brown needles, they undo her jeans
together, slide them down---breathless, nerves sparking. He can
smell pine resin, and desert air and the honey of her want for him.
Mulder parts her legs and lowers himself to her, breathes her in,
takes his hand sweeps through her auburn hair and tongues
her tight clit, tiny, tiny strokes until she twists underneath him,
until he feels her legs start to quiver. She wavers, and it's
happening, the hot spinning and spiraling and it's the pleasure
and pain of worlds beginning and ending---he's set a pulsar
in motion and there's no stopping it.

Wrangling up, he gets ready to enter her and her hand comes and
guides him, easing the head of his cock in, then inch by inch until
he's all hers, he's crawled inside her, just like he said, just like he
wanted.

And there she is--tight around him, her pale skin blushing and hot
to the touch, her mouth's moving; she's telling him she loves him,
loves him now, loves him always. He feels too much---it's too much,
it's never enough, every pore in his body, every inch of skin is
alive. She makes him this alive, the slick taste of her, the cool burn
of her body, her promises in daylight and in the dark. Closing and
opening all around him, the tight pull of her is indescribable,
the only home he's ever really known.

Mulder cries out---her name, his love, all of it, and shudders the
rest into the haven of her body.

Long minutes pass, and they both move from the place they've
made back into the world. Her hands hover lightly over his back,
tracing a path with her fingertips. They're sweaty and sated,
but it's time to go, time to find the road, find the place, find the
answers. They're still joined, and Scully moans a little when he
eases out, but she takes his hand and they help each other stand.

She is touched beyond words as he helps her dress---slowly, tenderly.
He kisses her belly as he slides her tank back into place. She helps
him with his shirt, brushes back the hair from his eyes. They shake
off pine needles, and Scully finger combs her hair, but she still
looks mussed. Mulder drags his fingers down her cheek; his touch
tells her she looks fine.

Scanning the view as they make ready to leave, something
at the horizon's edge draws their attention. Black clouds stacked
one on top of the other, rolling toward them, shrinking the hot,
blue sky.

Scully's the first to speak, "Storm's moving in, we better hurry."

She's not just talking about the weather, he knows it.
"We're not gonna get caught, Scully."

"There's a lot of 'em, how can you be so sure?"

"What little faith you have...Don't forget, I've got a
secret weapon."

"And just what would that be?"

"You, Scully. I've got you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Part 2

Back in the car, she is quiet and the radio
has nothing to offer so close to the state
border. He settles for listening to her
breathe and watching the yellow center line
unroll before them. She looks at him
occasionally, but her aviators prevent him
from reading her eyes. He's sure she is
still listing her wishes for William. He
suspects she'll never be done with that list.
He knows he won't.

He can smell the lingering evidence of their
desert union in the dry heat. It was a
celebration, he knows, of the life they
created and lost, and of the life they are
building in its stead.

Finally, she lowers her shades and gives him a
once over. He can't help smiling at the
predatory look in her eyes.

"How'd you ever get to be a Fed, outlaw?"

He grins at her. "I slept my way to the top."

She laughs, shaking her head, and she is
almost too beautiful to look at. He can't
remember a time when she looked more relaxed,
more peaceful. His own peace of mind strikes
him as an anomaly; it's hard to believe they
just said good-bye to their baby. He wonders
about fate, how it always comes down to the
two of them, but his instincts prevail and he
opts for acceptance of what is: this road,
this moment, and Scully at his side.

"You look good," he tells her.

"It's afterglow, Mulder."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"We met on a singles cruise."

"Absolutely not."

"At a bar."

"At least make it the grocery store," she
protests.

"I was the leader at your Overeaters Anonymous
group."

She slides the glasses down the bridge of her
nose, gives him a look.

"We met running in the park. We crashed into
each other during a thick fog."

She looked at him, a slight smile tilting her
mouth. "Okay. David and Delia met in the
park."

He rubs her thigh, steering the Jeep into a
parking spot with his other hand.

"Be careful," he cautions.

"I'll be fine." She starts to open the door,
but he pulls her back by the wrist, stealing a
kiss.

"Hurry."

She smiles, hopping out of the car with a
wave. The storage locker key hangs around her
neck on a chain, and the Colorado sun glints
off its face, more brilliant than her cross.
She looks strange to him, clad in denim and
leather boots. She is transformed, hair
blowing easily in the wind and all the care
shed from her confident stride. He realizes
her hair is going to prove problematic if
they're going to blend in. She disappears
into the building and he slumps low in the
driver's seat, scanning the sidewalk.

She takes long enough to make his heart race
and his back break out in a cold sweat. He
has one hand on the handle, ready to follow
her in when she pushes her way through the
revolving door. She doesn't make eye contact,
looking casually up and down the street as if
she had forgotten where she parked. He is
awed by her ease in this new role of criminal.

She climbs into the Jeep, toting a locked
suitcase and tossing a small manila envelope
at him. He doesn't check its contents; the
Gunmen never failed them before.

"There's a post office across the street,
wanna look for our pictures?" she smirks.

"Maybe tomorrow."

"Then just take me somewhere with a shower."

"You got it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The motel is large and clean. One of a large,
national chain. The desk clerks are infinitely
more bored, and less observant than the nosy
small-towners that staff the places they used
to stay. Scully checks in alone, signing
Delia Connor's name with slow precision. She
takes the key to room 249 and heads back
outside where Mulder is waiting in the Jeep.

He parks the car near their room and together
they carry their meager belongings upstairs.
She stretches out on her stomach along the
foot of the bed while he searches the envelope
left by their friends for the key to the
accompanying suitcase. When he finally opens
the lock, she perks up to look at the
contents. A pile of cash, a laptop, a disk, a
small medical bag, some travelers' checks, and
ATM cards that match the IDs in the envelope.
He takes the laptop, disk and the bag, setting
them carefully on the floor next to the bed.

"Hey Scully, wanna play Indecent Proposal?" he
holds up the suitcase as if to spill the cash
across the mattress.

"Mmm, later." She is getting ready to doze.
Suddenly, she opens her eyes. "Mulder, what
do we do now? Where are we going from here?"

He shrugs. "You know me, I love to play a
hunch...."

She nods, knowing that now he means the spirit
kind. "So, for now it's just you and me and
Colorado?"

"We can stay here for a while, see what the
guys left for us in the way of a hook up." He
shrugs again, and she realizes that for once,
he doesn't have a plan. It's terrifying and
exhilarating.

"I don't think we can stay in this motel
forever." She observes the obvious, as he
sometimes needs her to do.

"I know." He sits on the bed near her hips and
with one hand strokes absently at her waist,
while reaching down to pick up something on
the floor with the other. "Let's see if there's
anyone in the area."

Firing up the laptop, He carefully inserts the
disk and much to his relief, there are
contacts scattered throughout the region; one
about 60 miles from here.

"We have a winner. Looks like we'll be
visiting the hamlet of Hard Line and hooking
up with one J. Montoya. The boys didn't let
us down. They know--knew more government
watchdogs than the FBI."

She notices his careful switch to past-tense.
He is still adjusting. He seems lost in
thought, and she waits for him to come around.
"For now, we've got enough cash to stay
anonymous wherever we go...I think we might
hole up for awhile around here..."

His faraway look fades as he turns his focus
back to her. "But we're gonna have to do
something about this." He picks up a lock of
her hair, admiring the burnished glint.

She doesn't answer, knowing he is right,
resigned to the next step.

He puts everything away and crawls in bed next
to her, pulling her close. She rolls onto her
side letting him think, while her lids grow
heavy. She is exhausted, and his gentle
caresses are lulling her toward sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She wakes, later, and the room is dim. Only
the light from the bathroom interrupts the
black of the room. She stretches, looking for
Mulder. When she rolls over, something
crinkles beneath her. She finds a piece of
paper, and carries it into the glow near the
bathroom door to read.

"Outlaw,

Went for provisions. Intend to lick you clean
if you have not showered when I return.

M"

She smiles, recognizing the note for the love
letter it is, and decides to shower, hoping to
still receive an alternative bathing later.

Her jeans peal off like a second skin and she
leaves them in a heap on the floor. The rest
of her clothing serves as a breadcrumb trail
for Mulder to follow when he gets back; she
intends to stay under the spray until then.

The shower is hot with strong water pressure
and the complimentary shampoo doesn't smell
half-bad. She hunches her shoulders into the
spray, letting it pummel her tight muscles.
Her mind is pleasantly empty, and she starts
humming tunelessly to herself.

By the time the shower door slides open, she
has already sensed his return. "Come in or
close the door, you're letting all the steam
out."

He steps in, gasping at the high temperature.
"Scully, have you ever considered that you
might be taller if you didn't take such hot
showers?"

"I'm not a wool sweater, Mulder," she replies
with an easy grin.

He pulls her close, absorbing her heat and
smelling her clean hair. "I missed you."

"You were barely gone a couple of hours," she
marks his breastbone with kisses.

"I meant before. When I was gone...when I was
in that cell."

"You have no idea how much I wanted you home."
She likes saying what she feels to him. It's
been a long time coming.

"I got you something while I was out."

"Yeah?" She doesn't let him answer right away,
busying his lips with her own.

"Mmmhmm." He hums against her mouth.

"Is it something to eat?" she gives him an
impish smile.

"I got that, too." He slides his fingers down
her back, and gives her bottom an affectionate
squeeze.

"I'm intrigued," she says. "Let's get out."

"But you're naked," he protests.

"I'll be naked again," she vows. "After I
eat."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They dry each other with one towel, wrestling
for control of it and grinning. Mulder steals
it from her grasp and drapes it over her head,
scrubbing her hair dry while she laughs and
grabs his hips for balance. Finally, he slips
it back, framing her face like a nun.

"I love you," he whispers, kissing her.

She wraps her arms around him. "I love you,
too."

"Then come with me."

"Where?"

"Come on." He takes her hand and discards the
towel on the floor. She follows him, looking
only a little suspicious.

When he opens the door, a faint, flickering
light greets her. He leads her further and
she sees that he has scattered a few candles
around the room. He has laid out her cream-
colored robe on the bed, and now he picks it
up, swinging it around her shoulders.

He steps into a pair of silk boxer shorts,
smiling at her. She had packed all the
clothing he had left at her apartment almost a
year ago, and these burgundy boxers had been
among them. She had hesitated over them,
briefly, wondering if life on the run dictated
such frivolity, but she had to let him know
how much she had longed for him all this time.

He gestures to the small table in the corner,
and she takes a seat before the proffered
feast. He has cheeseburgers and fries laid
out on their wrappers. She has a secret love
of fast food burgers, one that he's intuited
over the years, but she's rarely allowed
herself the treat. Now, however, she reasons
that the criminal life is one that includes a
daily diet of rare treats.

Beside her inexpensive dinner sits a plastic
cup filled with red wine. The label on the
nearby bottle reveals little dichotomy
of price between food and drink. She licks her
lips, looking up at Mulder's expectant face.
He is trying to romance her, and succeeding
beyond his wildest hopes.

"To us," she toasts, lifting her cup.

"Always," he agrees, tapping his cup against
hers.

They eat in silence, reaching across the table
to touch one another often. Beneath the
table, their feet mimic their hands, teasing
and caressing. When her cup is empty, he pours
more wine, and she stretches her foot across
to his chair insinuating her toes between his
thighs. He gives her a look of mock scolding
and she bites her lower lip at him.

When the last fry is gone, he takes her hand
again and pulls her to her feet.

"So what's this surprise, Mulder?"

He doesn't answer, pulling her toward the
dresser. His jeans are lying on top of the
dresser, he digs in the pocket, emerging with
something closed in his fist. They are
standing together in front of the long mirror
that hangs above the drawers, and he tilts her
chin up to kiss her.

She responds immediately, desire fed by their
makeshift romantic dinner and a glass of wine.
She stands on her toes and tries to drape her
arms around his neck, but he stops her. They
never stop kissing while he traces the length
of her arms and takes her hands. He lifts her
left hand to rest on his chest and then she
feels him fumbling with her fingers. When the
ring sinks home on her third finger, she
realizes that Mulder's offering of burgers and
wine was their outlaw wedding banquet.

She breaks away from the kiss and looks at her
newly adorned hand. The ring is a simple gold
band, absent of ornamentation.

"You. Are. Mine," Mulder vows, holding her
hand to his lips and offering a kiss with each
word. She spies a similar gold band on his
left hand.

"Yes," she says solemnly, pulling his ringed
hand against her lips.

He pulls his hand away, captures her lips,
seals their promise.

When she is certain that she has forgotten how
to breathe, he breaks the kiss to turn his
attention to the rest of her face. She rests
her fingertips against his cheeks, escorting
his lips to the soft hollow below her ear. He
sinks his teeth into that sensitive spot and
her knees turn weak. He is instantly ready to
clasp her to his long frame, supporting her.
The heat from his skin burns through her thin
robe, and seems to penetrate into her heart.

There is nothing but freedom in their
commitment, so she unties her robe and lets it
drop at their feet. He has all of her to
touch, to taste. She would deny him nothing.
And so he lays her back on the bed and brushes
her eyes shut with gentle fingers.

She is blind to his slow appraisal of her
body. The sight of her is familiar, he has had
his perfect memory to keep him company for the
long months without her. The scent and feel of
her, however, has been missing from his
fantasies for a long time. She is
intoxicating. He uses her temporary blindness
to surprise her with kisses in all her
favorite places.

The inside of her elbow.

The lower border of her ribs.

The thrumming spot where her pulse beats at
the joining of her hip and her pelvis.

The hollow of her ankle.

"Love you, Scully," he whispers as he revels
in the scent of her cleavage.

"It's Mulder now, too," she whispers back,
eyes still shut.

He stills, breathing raggedly. She lifts her
head, opening her eyes. His eyes are dilated
and his mouth hangs slightly open. She licks
her lips slowly, amazed by the power she seems
to have over him.

"Yes," she says quietly.

He blinks slowly. "Yes."

She pulls him down, savoring his weight.

"Scully," he sighs into her hair. She knows
it is a term of endearment. His private
version of 'darling,' or 'baby.' She will always
be that to him, but tonight she chooses his
name as her own. A new name beyond all
the other new names that he will call her while
they run.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, touching her
everywhere he can reach.

"Make me feel even better," she says,
squeezing his hips with her thighs.

He can't deny her anything either, so he obeys
and then they are joined, breath stolen by
pleasure.

Scully sighs and hums with renewed passion
each time he thrusts to the hilt. She
remembers everything he likes and tilts her
hips up, linking her ankles around his waist.
He groans happily, panting in her ear.

"Love you," he gasps.

"Love you," she answers, combing her fingers
though his hair. Her new ring grazes his ear,
and suddenly she has to see his. She wrests
his hand out from under him, nearly toppling
him, but he shifts his weight in time,
balancing on one arm. She pulls his hand to
her face, placing a wet kiss in his palm,
before covering it with her left hand. Their
rings glitter in the candlelight.

"Mine," she mouths silently, staring into his
eyes.

"Mine," he imitates her, pulling his hand free
to cup the nape of her neck. He brings her
close for a kiss that nearly stops her heart.

She whimpers into his mouth and he makes a
growling sound in his throat. One of her legs
falls slack as her body becomes distracted
with impending release. "Now," she groans.
"Now, Mulder."

He changes his rhythm just slightly and
suddenly they are both over the edge. She
grips his shoulders hard enough to leave
welts, but he doesn't notice.

They collapse in a heap of limbs and sweating
skin, temporarily sated. She knows there is
not enough time and energy in this world to
show him her love, but she will keep trying
like this. She's never given up on anything
when it comes to him.

With a shuddering sigh, he slumps to one side,
knowing she can't breathe well beneath him.
"You okay?" he asks.

"I'm perfect," she hums.

"I've been saying that for years."

She smiles, too worn out to laugh. "Mulder,
where did you get the rings?"

He opens one eye. He knew her curiosity would
bring this question eventually. "A pawn
shop."

"When?"

"About an hour ago."

"Here?"

"It was time."

"What?" She turns her head to give him a look
of confusion.

"Missy came to me, Scully..."

A sharp gasp is her only reply.

"She said you always had to do everything the
hard way, and that I needed to stop dragging
my feet.

"You saw Melissa?"

"She was beautiful, Scully. Just like you."
He kisses the tears on her cheeks, but he can
see she is smiling. There is no sign of
disbelief in her face. No evidence of the
aching grief that usually accompanies mention
of Melissa Scully.

"It's a perfect fit, Mulder. How?"

"I paid extra to have mine sized. I didn't
know your size, but Melissa said it would fit. I
guess she was right."

"She would like that."

"What?"

"Being right."

He laughs. "Must run in the family."

"Watch yourself, Mister. You're in bed with a
known criminal."

"I'll take my chances."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX