Part 1 of 2

I scan my desk one last time, with misgiving. I'm
about to leave the office for a two-week vacation and
I'm afraid of forgetting something. I've come a long
way from the days when the bureau had to threaten to
withhold my pay in order to force me to take vacation
time, but I'm still leery of being out-of-touch for so long.

Mostly I take my vacation time in three-day
increments; I took a few days off last summer so
Scully and I could spend a long weekend at the summer
house, another few days when Melissa was born in early November and a few more when Scully's brothers came into town for Thanksgiving and Melissa's baptism. Uncle Bill and Aunt Tara are her godparents and that gesture seemed to finally dispell whatever lingering animosty there was between me and Bill Junior.

Now we're headed down to Texas for yet another family
event; this time, it's Charles' wedding. I was all for just doing it as a long weekend - flying down on
Friday morning and coming back on Monday afternoon -
but Scully insisted that as long as we were there we
might as well make a real vacation of it. I smile
softly as I remember the conversation we had when the
subject came up last month.

***

"What do you mean, a 'real vacation', Dana?" I'd
demanded.

"Fox, do you realize that despite all the travelling
we've done together, both before and after our
marriage, we've never taken what most people consider
a real vacation? Even our honeymoon in Hawaii was
essentially a business trip!"

"How about our trip to California last Christmas? I
didn't notice any aliens or paranormal activities at
Bill and Tara's house. Well, not unless you count his
truly amazing ability to walk through the living room
where we were sleeping on the fold-out couch everytime I even began to *think* about making love to you!"

"Trips to visit relatives don't count. And, before you bring it up, going up to spend a few days at the
summer house in Rhode Island every year doesn't count, either!"

"Okay, Scully, what's your definition of 'real
vacation'?"

"Going someplace just for fun that you don't normally
go, staying in a hotel, eating out every night and
doing touristy stuff," she replied promptly.

"Couldn't we wait and do it in the summer?" I whined.
"That's when most people take vacations."

"That's exactly why we should do it in April," she
countered. "In just a few years we'll be restricted to a school-year schedule. We should take advantage of the opportunity to travel at less hectic times of the year while we can. Besides, I'll be returning to work the first Monday in May. I can hardly come back from a six-month maternity leave, work part-time for only a couple of months, then ask for vacation time!"

I'd conceded defeat and agreed to a week in San
Antonio, followed by a few days in Corpus Christi to
attend Charles' wedding and hang out at the beach.

***

As I'm about to leave the office, Agents Guilbeau,
Chan and Briggs walk in. Charles Guilbeau, a black
agent in his late 40s, is my second in command on the
serial killers task force. Andrew Chan is kind of my
protege, an Asian-American agent who reminds me of
myself 15 years ago. Donna Briggs is the only woman on the task force; she's in her early 30s but seems to have retained the interest in horses so many women go through as adolescents - other than job stuff, it's the only subject I've ever heard her discuss.

"We need your cell phone, Agent Mulder," Guilbeau
says.

"My phone?" I reply, puzzled.

"Scully called," Chan explained. "She doesn't want you taking it with you on vacation. She'll have hers, in case there's some sort of emergency, but she says if you have yours you'll be calling the office too
frequently."

"Hey, who's in charge around here?" I ask.

"Agent Scully," the three of them answer in unison.

I've never been one to refuse to accept the truth. I
hand over my phone.

***

I arrive home to find Scully packing and playing
peek-a-boo with Melissa, our five-month-old daughter.
Every time she puts an item in the suitcase, she first holds it in front of her face, then drops it amid smiles and giggles. I walk in and they both smile at me. I scoop up Melissa in one arm and drag Dana close with the other, kissing them in quick succession. It occurs to me, not for the first time, that I am the luckiest man in the whole world. Every night I get to come home to a beautiful wife and beautiful daughter and be greeted by smiles and kisses. Sure beats the hell out of all those years when the only things I had to return home to were my fish!
 
I settle down on the bed to play with Melissa while
Dana continues to pack. "This is one of those
advantages of being married that nobody ever tells you about beforehand; wives do all the packing," I say.

"Mulder, as I recall, I did most of your packing even
before we were married," she points out dryly. It's
true enough. Despite the fact that I enjoy travelling, I have some sort of psychological aversion to packing. Scully figured out early in our partnership that I'd agree to just about any sort of trade off - doing all the paperwork, taking the motel room with the leaky faucet and busted TV, letting her choose where we went out to dinner, explaining my far out theories to the local law enforcement officers while she waited in the car - in return for her doing my packing.

"Some men get to enjoy pre-marital sex; I had to
settle for pre-marital packing," I say with a mock
sigh.

"I'm not the one who decided it would be more fun to
chase mothmen in the woods than stay in a nice, warm
hotel room and drink wine with my partner," she
replies.

Rather than getting into that - early in our marriage
we agreed that we'd *both* missed a lot of signals
over the years - I say, "You made me turn over my cell phone; I feel naked without it."

"That's the way I like you," she answers with a smile.

***

The next day, we arrive at the airport extra early.
It's the first time we've flown with Melissa and we're both a little nervous about how she'll handle it, but everything goes fine. We find an aisle to ourselves, with Scully by the window. Between my shoulders and a strategically placed blanket, Dana is able to nurse her during takeoff and landing, so that her ears don't bother her, and she sleeps most of the rest of the time.

I'm amazed when we check into the hotel. It's a
gorgeous place, right on the Riverwalk, and our
spacious room must have cost a fortune. We can easily
afford it, but Scully made the reservations and
usually she tends to be conservative in these matters.

In fact, one of the very few major fights we've had
about personal issues (as opposed to the professional
arguments we had on virtually a weekly basis when we
worked the X-Files together) was over money. She did
most of our Christmas shopping over the internet,
since Melissa was too little to be taken out to malls, and she once made some remark along the lines of "Hope you don't mind that I'm spending a lot of your money, Mulder,".

I went ballistic. Demanded what I'd ever done to
deserve a remark like that. I have a lot of hang-ups,
God knows, but money has never been one of them. It
would never occur to me that the money I was earning
wasn't "our" money, any more than the idea that the
infant Scully had carried for nine months and
breastfed night and day wasn't "our" daughter. 

We both calmed down and apologized quickly, but we
still have differences in our spending habits. I'd
never thought of myself as rich but I suppose -
compared to growing up in a family of six on a Naval
officer's salary or trying to make ends meet in
Washington, D.C. while repaying medical school loans
on an entry-level F.B.I. salary - the lifestyle we now lead is pretty affluent.
 
Once we get unpacked, we strap Melissa into her
snuggli on my chest and begin strolling along the
Riverwalk, holding hands. We duck in and out of a
variety of small shops and art galleries. We get ice
cream cones to eat as we walk along and Scully decides to tease me with hers. She keeps licking it real slowly, then sighing and murmuring, "That's *SO*
good!"

"You're a tease, Scully," I mutter, squeezing her
fingers with mine.

"No I'm not, Mulder," she contradicts. "A tease is a
woman who promises what she has no intention to
deliver. I have *EVERY* intention of delivering on my
promises."

I grin in response and anticipation.
 
When we reach the Alamo, we go in and look around,
then watch a film about the events that occurred there nearly 200 years ago. I'd expected to find the whole experience corny, but instead find myself identifying with Davey Crocket and William Barrett Travis. These were men who were willing to put their lives on the line for a principle they believed in, no matter how crazy their actions might have seemed to other people. I can relate.

By the time we're done looking around at the Alamo and its gift shop, we're ready for an early dinner. In keeping with the spirit of San Antonio, we choose a Mexican restaurant.

We get in a minor debate over what to drink with
dinner. Scully's not supposed to have alcohol while
she's nursing, so a bottle of wine is out. She orders
iced tea, but urges me to go ahead and have a beer.
"Come on, Fox, we're on vacation. And we're walking
back to the hotel, so it's not like you have to worry
about drinking and driving."

"Nah, I'll have iced tea, same as you. I don't like to drink alone. Besides, Texans make good iced tea."

So we drink our tea and eat our enchiladas, but then
have to leave the restaurant in a bit of a hurry,
because Melissa is beginning to fuss. Guess she
decided it was time for her dinner, as well. As soon
as we get back to the hotel, Scully sits down to nurse Melissa who, by this time, is practically wailing.

"I think I'm going to start her on cereal once we get
home," Dana says as Melissa gulps from her breast.
"She's old enough and, anyway, I need to get used to
nursing less in preparation for returning to work
part-time."

I nod. Scully will be going back to work in just a few weeks and she finds the idea of pumping her breast milk totally unappealing. So she'll continue to nurse Melissa first thing in the morning and at night before she puts her to bed, but we'll give bottles with formula during the day.

Once Melissa is asleep, Dana heads off to soak in the
sunken tub, but gives me a smile and whispers that she won't be long. However, as soon as she emerges from the bathroom, Melissa starts crying. Scully and I take turns walking the floor with her. She's fine as long as we're moving, but starts to fuss as soon as we stop.

"Do you think something's wrong with her?" I ask.
Dana's the Mommy and the doctor; I'm only the clueless Daddy.

"I think her stomach is probably upset," Scully says.
"Either from the plane ride or possbily from all the
spices that were on the enchiladas I ate; it could
have flavored my milk in some way that didn't agree
with her."

Scully gives a huge yawn and I say, "You go on to
sleep, sweetheart. I'll walk the floor with the baby."

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"I don't mind," I assure her.

Scully yawns again and says, "I'm sorry we didn't get
to make love. I thought we'd have a romantic evening."

"Maybe we can slip in a little afternoon delight
tomorrow during her nap," I suggest.

So Scully goes to sleep and I walk the floor with
Melissa 'til the wee hours, then finally am able to
set her down and catch a few winks myself.

***

The next morning we eat breakfast at the lavish buffet offered by the hotel. Scully carefully avoids the spicy sausage and huevos rancheros, selecting instead fresh fruits, pastries and yogurt. After we've finished our breakfast and she's fed Melissa we  go to Mass.

We choose to attend in a historic mission chapel that
offers tours on weekdays, but also offers Mass on
Sundays to the tourists staying in the downtown area.
At home, Dana usually goes to Mass alone while I stay
home with Melissa, but this morning we all attend.
Scully's never made a big deal about me not accepting
her religious beliefs, just asked me to keep my mind
and heart open. Occasionally, especially at times like these, I wonder if the "truth" I've been searching for all my life isn't maybe right in front of me, after all.

Melissa falls asleep in her snuggli as we walk back to our hotel in the warm spring sunshine and we enter our room to find the maid has already been there. I manage to ease Melissa into her crib without waking her. Dana, apparently deciding to make up for our missed opportunity from last night, is already half-naked by the time I turn back around.

Even as I'm quickly unbuttoning my shirt and
unbuckling my belt, a question occurs to me. "Scully,
you don't mind doing this right after Mass, do you?"

She gives me a puzzled look and asks, "Of course not.
Why would I?"

"Well, I don't know. . .I just thought you might think it was. . .inappropriate or something."

Scully laughs softly as she sheds the last of her
clothing and pulls back the covers.

"Mulder, are you under the impression that we're about to commit some sort of sin?" she asks as she slides between the sheets.

"Um. . ." I hesitate and she laughs again.

"Fox, anyone who believes in God at all has to accept
the fact that He invented sex. We're not misusing it
in any way; we're married. Even if you take the
strictest possible interpretation of Catholic
teachings on sexuality - that it's only acceptable
when the couple is open to new life - we're *still*
not committing any kind of sin," she points out.

True enough. While the doctor pretty much assured us
that Melissa's conception was a one-in-a-million
triumph over the odds - and while we're both glad that we were able to have even *one* child together -
Scully and I both share a hope that we might
eventually be able to make a second baby.

"So making love immediately after Mass doesn't bother
you, mmm?" I ask, slipping into bed beside her and
bending my mouth to hers for a deep, sweet kiss.

When we come up for air, she says, "Well, I think it's probably best we came back to our hotel room rather than jumping each other in the church foyer!"

I chuckle at that and tickle her a bit, running my
fingertips down her sides. She giggles and bucks up
against me, then bites down softly on my neck. I
continue to play with her, sliding my hands up and
down her legs and arms, then rolling so that we're
side by side. I put one hand at the back of her neck
to pull her down for another kiss and let my other
hand glide up and down her back and bottom. Her hands
aren't idle, either. She's stroking my shoulders and
chest, then lifting her hand to squeeze my ass and
thighs.

Finally, when Scully has begun to whimper softly, I
slide my hand between her legs. I tickle her a bit
more, which elicits a sound somewhere between a
breathy giggle and a moan from her. I roll her onto
her back again and kneel between her legs, then guide
my tip to her entrance. I push in slowly, savoring her sweet silkiness.

"I love you," I murmur, settling into a slow and easy
pattern of langorous lovemaking.

"I love you, too," she replies, smiling up at me.
After a few minutes, though, she adds,"Harder,
Mulder."

"Huh?" I ask, moderately suprised. I've always tried
to be gentle with Scully and I redoubled my efforts
during her pregnancy and since Melissa's birth. There
were a few occasions, early in our marriage, when it
happened fast and furious and Scully never exactly
objected, but she certainly never requested such
treatment either .

Scully smiles at me and a certain impish glint dances
in the depths of her blue eyes before she whispers in
a sultry drawl, "Fuck me harder, Fox."

That does it. I abandon soft and slow for hard and
fast. "This what you want?" I pant out, as I thrust in and out of her. I'm really putting my back into it and I can feel the pleasure of each thrust all the way up my spine.

"Yeah, oh yeah!" she murmurs, inching her legs up my
back and angling her hips up toward me. Suddenly
- without the build-up that I've grown used to - she
tenses up and begins throbbing around me, digging her
nails into my shoulders at the same time. She lets out only a breathy moan, though; apparently, even in the throes of passion, she hasn't forgotten Melissa is in the room and might wake up if we make too much noise.

The sight of Scully's passion-dazed face, combined
with the feel of her internal muscles clenching my
cock, sends me soaring over the edge myself. I spasm
inside her, groaning and growling in her ear as I do
so.

As soon as I pull out and roll onto my back, Scully
nuzzles her face into the patch of hair in the center
of my chest and falls asleep with a contented smile on her face. We differ from the sterotypical married
couple in the fact that she's the one who usually
falls asleep immediately after lovemaking. I'm more
likely to stay awake but this afternoon - worn out
from only a few hours sleep the night before - I zonk
out myself.

It's probably several hours later when Melissa begins
to fuss. Even though she's only an infant, some innate sense of modesty leads me to pulling on my boxer briefs before walking over to her crib. I change her diaper and bring her back to our bed, where Scully is now looking at the two of us with a sleepy, sated smile on her face.

"C'mere, precious," she says, holding her arms out to
Melissa and settling the baby against her breast. Then she smiles at me and indicates the other side of the bed, "You, too, handsome."

So I walk around to the other side and spoon up
against my wife, pulling her bottom snugly against me
and stroking our daughter's downy hair with my hand. I drop a kiss on Scully's cheek and whisper, "How ya
feelin'?"

"Absolutely wonderful," she replies. "After this, do
you want to get dressed and go on one of the boat
rides down the river?"

"Sure," I agree.

***

Our days in San Antonio pass quickly and happily. The
weather is gorgeous. Apparently mid-April in south
Texas has weather similar to that of mid-May in the
D.C. area or mid-June in New England.

We spend one whole day at SeaWorld, where I get into
an animated discussion with one of the dolphin- keepers as to how much the animals can understand. Scully finally pulls me away, saying, "Please, Fox. I still remember when you claimed a gorilla communicating by sign language was a reliable witness to an X-File we were investigating."

"Hell, that gorilla was more reliable than most of the human witnesses we encountered over the years," I
reply.

Finally, it's Thursday, our last night here. We're
leaving tomorrow morning to drive to Corpus Christi so we'll be there for the rehearsal tomorrow evening and the wedding Saturday afternoon. Scully and I have just made love and, amazingly, for once she's remained conscious enough afterwards to engage in some afterglow cuddling and conversation.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks drowsily.

"Just that things are going to change somewhat soon
after we get back," I say. "We've got most of next
week in Corpus Christi, then the following week with
me back at work and you still at home, then you'll
start back to work part-time again."

"Do you not want me to?"

I sigh. "I'm trying not to worry about it. Every time
things change, I think it's going to be worse, but it
always ends up being better."

"Explain yourself, Agent Mulder," she says, with an
inquisitive lilt to her voice.
 
"Well," I say slowly, like I'm beginning a story.
"Once, a long, long time ago, I had the X-Files all to myself. It was my own private fiefdom and I loved
being the lone wolf of the F.B.I. When I learned
another agent had been assigned to assist me - which I figured was just bureau doublespeak for "spy on me" - I was furious. I figured things would never be the
same. And I was right. They were much, much better.
All my worries were for naught. I didn't get a spy, or even an assistant. I got a partner. Someone to share my work, my worries and my passion for the truth."

"So. . . ?"

"Then, once I'd fallen in love with my beautiful
partner, I was scared to rock the boat of our
relationship. I wanted her to share my nights as well
as my days, but I was worried that I'd screw things up in our relationship and lose her if I made any serious moves toward becoming her lover. 'Til finally, one night, I worked up my courage to ask her to marry me."

"And. . .?"

"And it was better than anything I'd ever dreamed of.
Days spent doing work I loved, nights spent enjoying
the most fantastic sex on the planet, virtually ever
moment spent with the woman I love. Getting married
didn't "ruin" our relationship; it improved it."

"Go on."

"Then, you got pregnant, and I was thrilled and
terrified at the same time. I wanted us to have a baby - not just because you wanted it, but because I always thought it would be great to be a father - but I really, really hated having to give up the X-Files.
Yet it's worked out okay. I didn't think I'd like
being part of the bureau mainstream again, but I do. I like working with Chan and the others, I like being a boss, I like - don't kill me for this part, Scully - knowing you're safe at Quantico instead of risking
your life confronting mutants and madmen."

"But. . .?"

"When you said you wanted to take a full six months
off after Melissa's birth, it threw me a little bit. I mean, you've always been there for me professionally. Even during the times you weren't working with me directly, you were always available to do my lab work or consult with me on cases."

"You never mentioned that you wanted me to go back to
work sooner."

"My point is, I'm glad you didn't. It's been wonderful having you home all the time. It's like. . .in some strange way, it's helped me understand my own father better. During most of my childhood - even before Samantha disappeared - he'd always been kind of. . .bitter. But he must have been happy when I was a baby; eager to rush home every night to see what new thing I'd learned or to hold my Mom in his arms once again. I mean, Samantha did exist. That shows my
parents must have gotten along reasonably well until I was at least three-and-a-half!"

Scully smiles and nuzzles up against me, then murmurs, "So, now?"

"Now, part of me is worried about you going back to
work, even though it will only be part-time," I
confess. "You do such a fantastic job with Melissa,
but I can tell that it really is a lot of work, too. I guess I'm a little bit worried that between the baby and your job, you won't have much time for me. Yet every other time I've worried, it's turned out fine. I'm sure you'll manage to do a good job out at
Quantico and still be able to give both me and Melissa plenty of love and attention."

"I think I can handle it," she says dryly, before
snuggling closer and falling asleep.

***

The next morning we check out of the hotel shortly
after breakfast and make the three-hour drive to
Corpus Christi in our rental car, arriving there in
time for lunch. Maggie spent this past week in
California with Bill Junior and his family and all of
them arrived in Corpus last night. We meet Charles and the other for lunch and finally get introduced to
Christa, his fiancee. I'm surprised at how young she
is. Charles is in his mid-30s, just a couple of years
younger than Dana, but Christa seems to only be 22 or
so.

Christa greets Dana and me politely enough, but it's
clear which member of our family really interests her. "Oh, she's beautiful!" Christa says, reaching out to touch Melissa's cheek softly. "The pictures don't do her justice. Can I hold her?"

"If she'll go to you," Dana agrees and hands Melissa
over. After a quick check to make sure Mommy is still
within her view, Melissa grasps Christa's necklace and yanks it off.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Dana immediately cries.

"It's all right," Christa says with a smile, "that's
just what babies do."

"You sound like you're the oldest of a large family,"
I suggest.

Christa laughs. "Just the opposite, actually. I'm the
youngest of a large family. But I've been an aunt
since I was 10, so I'm used to babies."

***

That night, the presence of Bill Junior is required at the rehearsal, as he's the best man. Maggie and Tara have also been invited to the rehearsal dinner, so Dana and I offer to babysit the boys. We take them
down to a playground area on the beach, within walking distance of our hotel. Dana puts both Melissa and her 10-month-old cousin, Patrick, in the baby swings and soon sets up a rhythm of pushing them in sequence. She faces them while pushing, saying stuff like "Here's Patrick, coming in for a landing, Here's Melissa, catching up fast!" which they respond to with glee.

Matthew, meanwhile, has decided that - at the ripe old age of three - he's old enough to go down the big
slide. I'm torn between following him up the ladder
and standing at the bottom to catch him. I finally
decide to do both, following him up the ladder, then
jumping down into the sand and running around quickly
to the front of the slide to catch him.

When I'm exhausted, we walk down to the edge of the
water. Scully and I are each holding a baby, with
Matthew between us, holding both our hands. We laugh
as the water swoops up over our bare toes.

An elderly woman walks by and begins a casual
conversation with us. Her glance keeps darting between Patrick in my arms and Melissa in Scully's. Finally, she asks, "Are your babies twins or just very close in age?"

Scully smiles and explains that the boys are our
nephews, while Melissa is our daughter. The woman nods and moves on.