-begin part 1 of 4-

I always feel like the theme from "Star Wars" should play every time you
have to read one of these tedious pieces of boilerplate. But since I can't
set that up for everyone (Hell, I can't even write the code to set it up for
_me_·), you'll just have to hum. ROLL 'EM, SMOKEY!

TITLE: "The Road Not Taken 6: Typhoon"
AUTHOR: deejay
CLASSIFICATION:
S, R/A (Story, Romance/Angst· and I _do_ mean ANGST!)
RATING:
NC-17, for sexual situations (specifically, same-sex sexual situations) and
adult language. If you're the kind of person who fainted at the sight of the
Starr Report ö and not because it read more like a Jackie Collins novel than
a serious legal brief ö then this story is not for you! Also, if you're
under the age of 18, you're probably not supposed to be reading this, no
matter _what_ you think of Kenneth Starr! Give us both a break, go somewhere
else!
ADDITIONAL WARNINGS:
* IF YOU'RE A 'SHIPPER: If Scully hasn't been "saved" during a night with
Mulder on the floor of Skinner's office by _now_, it ain't gonna happen
_here_! Save yourself the torture and go count how many MSRs Gossamer
archived this month. You'll feel better, I'll feel better·
* IF YOU'RE A LONGTIME TRNT READER: Although there are aspects of the
_other_ MSR (Mushy Scully Romance) in this story, please understand without
a shadow of a doubt: When I mean "Angst", I mean ANGST! Check the summary if
you don't believe me.
KEYWORDS:
Slash, Scully/Other romance, Mulder/Scully friendship
SPOILERS: Terma.
SUMMARY:
"The Road" goes on. Through a series of happenings, Scully's family finds
out about her emerging sexual orientation. Their reaction forces Scully to
make a decision about her relationship with Max, and her relationship with
her family. TIMELINE:
Pre-diagnosis Season 4. Runs from mid-November to Christmas Eve 1996.
ARCHIVE:
Submitted to Gossamer USA, xff and Scullyslash. This will also be part of a
two-part submission to The Annex. All others ask me first before you do it,
and please use only my _penname_!
CROSSPOSTS: If you're in charge of the archives I sent this to, please post
to atxc!
FEEDBACK:
Always welcome! Questions, comments, flames and fan mail to
drjohn@wizvax.net. This story is open for discussion on atxc.

* Dana Scully (and all the other Scullys you see and hear), Fox Mulder,
Walter Skinner, Holly, and the Man Smoke-Free Airports Love To Hate belongs
to Chris Carter, 10-13 Productions, and FoxTV. I haven't made Dime One on
this series so far, so why should I think I'm going to start now?
* Contrary-wise, Rebecca Maxfield, Bridgit Benedetto, the various members of
The Coven and their consorts, and all other characters (not to mention the
story itself) belongs to Night Tripper Productions and the author. Mess with
them, you mess with your heartbeat. Any resemblance to real-life people, in
this world or the next, is a complete surprise to me.
* "We'll Be Together," by Sting, is also excerpted without permission. You
can find it on a tremendous disc called "Nothing Like The Sun", his second
solo effort. The artist formerly known as Gordon Sumner may not have a great
head for business, but he's a genuine genius when it comes to music and
lyrics. There isn't a bad cut on this disc, and it's available at cutout
prices. Don't delay, buy today!
* I also included a mercifully short (and without permission) excerpt from
my least-favorite Christmas song. I won't tell you what it is or who it's
by, to maintain shock value. If you like this song, hey, it's a free world.
If you wrote this song, take heart in the fact that there are millions of
people who call their favorite radio station and request it every Christmas
season. Like the man said, it takes all kinds·

I've had this story running around inside my head for about a year and a
half. Not to put too fine a point on it, I've avoided it like the plague,
because I couldn't see it coming out any other way than this. Writing it was
as painful as I expected it to be, and there's still more to do. I said this
was going to be a trilogy, but Part 2 of this story is very different, in
structure and subject matter, and should be about as long. Therefore, by the
power vested in me, I'm turning this from a trilogy to· God, I don't know, a
quadrilogy, I guess. A business teacher who will remain nameless would say I
'm giving you a "value-added" experience. But since said teacher is a
clueless twit, we'll call it a quadrilogy and have done with it.

Many thanks to my fellow travelers in the Slash/NoRoMo Conspiracy, the only
people who make the Consortium look like a Rest Home Shuffleboard Team.
SLASH-KETEER ROLL CALL! Stand as your name is called and wave to the throng:

* Jason Cleaver remains an avid cheerleader and sounding board. Hey, mate,
_you're_ the one who wanted me to write more of this stuff! Just goes to
show you should be careful what you wish for.:)
* Several people I'm proud to call my peers ö Rad Hall, xf-stew, Erin Stone,
Dana Starbuck (and her silent partner), Meghan, and eeyore, to name just a
few ö have not just kept me smiling with their encouragement and feedback.
They've also inspired me with some truly terrific work, buoying my feeling
that Scullyslash is the fastest-growing fanfic genre in the XF Universe.
Take a bow, people! The Slash is out there because you guys keep it out
there!
* A quick shout to Tamy D Pooh, Mistress Extraordinaire of the Scullyslash
list. She deserves serious applause for creating a truly nurturing
atmosphere for writers, potential writers, and fans of ScullySlash. You
rule, Tamy, don't let anyone tell you different! To see what fantastic stuff
has appeared on the list, go to:
http://www.angelfire.com/sc/scullypage/LIST.html.
* Finally, props and pashes to my beta reader and "Double Dutch"
collaborator Saundra Mitchell, without whom I'd trip over my word processor
every other page. Keep on rockin' in the free world, girlfriend! They'll
_all_ give us a quarter when it's over!

And I _swore_ I wasn't going to write another long-winded intro. Hey, what
can I say? Mistakes were made. And anyway, it's the _definition_ of
"long-winded intro" that counts· Oh, to hell with it! That excuse never
worked before. With that on the record, Mr. Chairman·

Ladies and gentlemen· START YOUR ENGINES!

<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>

"THE ROAD NOT TAKEN 6: TYPHOON" (1/15)
by deejay


____PROLOGUE: NOVEMBER '96____

The shot was possible, but difficult. Max would have to kiss the 8 ball with
the cueball so it would drop into the side pocket. She braced her left foot
behind her and leaned over the billiard table, lining up the cue stick
behind the off-white sphere. The movement made her still-bruised ribs
complain, but she kept a straight face. She'd taken two Advil right after
dinner, and it took some time for the anti-inflammatories to kick in.

"No pressure," her eldest brother Jamie said from across the table.

"None at all," her youngest brother Mike agreed, standing next to him.

Max never looked up. "How would you like this stick in your eye?"

Jamie looked thoughtfully at Mike. "Good point."

*You gonna take it,* Max asked herself, *or are you just posing for the
album cover?* She drew the stick back and hit the cueball. From the second
she took the shot, she knew she'd hit it too hard. The cueball kissed the
black billiard ball just right, knocking it home, but momentum sailed the
cueball down the table and into the left corner pocket.

*Scratch.* Max put her head on the table. "Arrrgh."

"_Thank_ yuh, Jeezus," Mike said, holding his hand in the air like the
latest convert at the gospel tent.

Jamie slid two quarters off the table and into his hand. "Our long national
nightmare is over." The buffed-out high school football coach flipped one of
the coins to the wiry internist, who caught it one-handed.

"Don't be a shitty winner, Toots," Meghan mildly admonished him.

"Yes, dear," Jamie said, his voice a quivering drone. The bespectacled
English professor smacked her husband on the shoulder and gave him his beer
bottle back, along with a quick kiss on the cheek. Meghan only came up to
Jamie's shoulder, even though she was the tallest woman in the room at 5'6".

Max turned to Scully, who gave her a smile of support. "So much for the
winning streak," Max said ruefully.

Scully waved her off. "That just means we'll have _two_ streaks when we
leave." Max grinned, grazing Scully's hand with her knuckles.

"Oooooooh," Jamie and Mike said in mock-terror-driven unison.

Jane and her husband Pete came up to Scully & Max and took their sticks.
"You shall be avenged," Pete said dramatically.

"You could wear my scarf on your arm, if I had one," Max cracked.

Jane nodded at Scully. "The way _she_ plays, maybe I ought to change
partners." She gave Scully a quick wink.

"No switching teams," Mike said sternly.

"I agree," Pete said, sticking out his lower lip in protest.

Jamie moved around the table, pulling balls out of the pockets. "You're
lucky we let Dana stay at _all_, Max," he said gruffly. "We don't allow
hustlers in this pool hall."

Scully picked up her beer bottle off the table by the tired green couch.
"Blame it on the Navy," she said. "Their rec rooms didn't always have
pinball or air hockey, but pool tables were standard-issue. I was beating my
brothers by the time I was 12."

"Your tax dollars in action," middle sister Chris intoned, her back against
the wood-paneled wall. The black-clad architect was the only one in the room
drinking wine.

"Don't mind her," Jane said, chalking up her cue. "She's a _Democrat_."
Chris stuck her tongue out at her big sister.

Scully looked astounded. "Has she no sense of _shame_?"

The room was still in stitches when Rachel and Erica came down the stairs
and into the converted basement. Rachel was carrying a light blue book as
they walked up to Jane. "Mommy," she said plaintively, "will you read to
us?"

Jane tried not to wince as she looked down at her twin 4-year old daughters.
"Why don't you ask Grammie to put in another video for you?"

"We've seen them both _twice_," Erica informed her, her face flushed with
the atrocity of it all.

"We're _bored_," Rachel added, her lower lip jutting out slightly.

Jane sighed. "This is what we get for not bringing the whole collection,"
she told Pete.

"We'd have to buy another van to haul 'em all," he pointed out.

Pete was trying to figure out how to tell his daughters that their mother
ought to have a break at her own birthday party when Scully stepped up next
to Rachel and pointed at the book. "May I see that, please?"

Rachel held it up for Scully's inspection. "Grammie gave it to us on our
birthday."

"We have the same birthday," Erica piped up.

Somehow, Scully kept a straight face as she squatted down next to the two
adorable blonde cherubs. "Really? _Wow_." She smiled at the cover
illustration of Pooh, Piglet, and the rest of the residents of the Hundred
Acre Wood. "I haven't read this in a long time. If I say 'Please,' will
_you_ read it to _me_?"

"Dana," Jane began, "you don't have to-"

"We're only _learning_ to read," Erica sighed, implying it was a long and
torturous job.

"We're just in pre-K," Rachel told Scully.

"Oh," Scully said, nodding judiciously. "Well, I tell you what: How about we
go upstairs and _all_ read it, and you guys can help me with some of the
words. How about that?"

"Okay," Rachel said enthusiastically, flashing a gap-toothed grin.

"Yeah," Erica agreed, nodding happily. "You're nice!" Each girl took Scully
by a hand and started leading her to the stairs.

"Hey," Max said, broadcasting light outrage. "That's my partner you're
kidnapping!"

"I'm sure the ransom will be negligible," Scully said, throwing a broad
smile over her shoulder. "Call me when it's time to start winning again."

Max watched her nieces lead Scully out of the room and up the stairs. She
bit her lower lip, grinning furiously. When she turned back to the room,
every eye was on her. "What?"

Mike was fighting a losing battle against the smile taking over his face.
"Jeez, Beck, if you stare any harder, you're gonna burn holes in the back of
her sweater."

"Oh, fuck you," Max shot back, still grinning.

"Another good point," Jamie said, taking a sip of beer.

The room broke up again. Like most people, Max could feel herself blush.
"Okay, okay. Anybody _else_ want to weigh in with an opinion?"

The question was said in jest, but there was a moment of silence after it.
Finally Chris said, "Well, for one thing, she's an absolute _dog_."

Max looked at her sister like she'd spray-painted the international 'No'
sign on the Mona Lisa. Before she could react, Jamie added, "Dumb as a post,
too."

Jane shook her head sadly. "No personality. Can't carry on a conversation to
save her _life_..."

"Hasn't got any fashion sense, either," Meghan chimed in. "I bet she buys
all her stuff at Wal-Mart. On sale."

"And on top of all _that_," Pete concluded, "she's a shitty pool player."

The look Max gave her siblings and siblings-in-law was withering. "You're
fucking with your life span. I hope you all know that."

The laughter filtered up to Scully as Rachel and Erica pulled her down the
first-floor hall and into the living room.

***

Scully paused, listened. *Regular breathing, and they haven't asked a
question in a while.* She looked at Rachel and Erica, snuggled on either
side of her. They were fast asleep, legs dangling off the couch. Erica's
mouth was open, but she wasn't drooling. Scully smiled and brushed a stray
lock of hair out of the girl's closed eyes. She looked back at the color
illustration of the party Christopher Robin gave Pooh for saving Piglet from
the flood. One of Scully's first memories was of her mom reading
'Winnie-the-Pooh' to her and Melissa, late at night at the house in San
Diego, Scully fighting to stay awake so she could find out whether Pooh and
Piglet caught the heffalump...

"Down for the count."

Scully looked up. Jane was leaning against the doorway to the dining room,
arms folded and smiling.

Scully smiled back, closing the book. "Milne will do that to you."

Jane came across the room as quietly as she could. "Grab that," she
whispered, pointing at the multi-colored afghan draped across the back of
the couch.

Scully shifted carefully around as Jane picked Rachel up. The little girl
stirred, unconsciously putting her arms around her mother's neck. Scully got
up slowly, making sure not to jostle Erica as she picked up the blanket.

"Whaaa," Rachel murmured.

"It's okay, Sugar Pop," Jane cooed, hugging her gently. "We're going home
soon." She put Rachel down next to her sister. "You keep dreaming, okay?"

"Uh hunh," Rachel sighed, already falling back to sleep.

"Where's Dana," Erica asked muzzily.

Scully leaned down, putting her hand on the armrest for leverage as jane
tucked the afghan around her two children. "I'm right here, precious," she
told her, kissing the 4 year-old tenderly on the forehead. "You snuggle with
Rachel, and I'll be right back."

"'kay." Erica's head lolled left, just touching Rachel's shoulder as both
girls returned to slumber.

Jane smiled at Scully as she straightened up. "Looks like you're a hit
across the board."

Scully's insides glowed at the compliment. She nodded at the sleeping girls.
"They're terrific."

Jane gazed lovingly at her daughters. "Living proof angels do exist." She
looked over at Scully. "You didn't have to take them off my hands·"

Scully waved her off. "It's your birthday. You should relax. Besides, I'm
the designated reader for my younger brother's kids. He's got four. One of
them turns two next month."

Jane suppressed a smile. "Good Catholic family?"

"How'd you guess," Scully deadpanned

"Experience," Jane returned; the cross around her neck was almost identical
to the one Scully wore. They shared a quiet giggle. "Mom's made coffee. You
want some?"

"Sounds great."

Jane led the way as they walked through the dining room towards the kitchen.
Scully glanced at the long polished-wood dining room table. *You couldn't
tell it was covered with twelve kinds of food two hours ago.*

Dinner had been long, comfortable, and occasionally raucous. Max' mother had
created three divine pasta dishes and a salad big enough to keep everyone
regular for a week. Everyone except Jane and Pete had brought some kind of
food or drink; Scully only had a minuscule bit of everything, and she still
felt like an overstuffed pillow. She got more questions about her medical
background than she did about her work, and no questions about the X Files.
She was relieved about the latter (*Nothing dries up appetites faster than a
Flukeman·*), and chalked up the former to law enforcement being an over-used
topic in the Maxfield house. She talked mostly about her family -- where she
grew up, her life as a Navy brat. Mike had gone through ROTC to pay for his
education, and was still a Medic in the Army Reserve, so they talked a
little about military life.

Scully never felt like the center of attention ö more like part of a
multi-subject conversation that swung her way at random. Max sat across from
her, trading barbs with her brothers like it was any old Saturday night
dinner. Every so often, she grazed her foot against Scully's ankle. Scully
nearly jumped out of her skin the first time Max did it; Max was purposely
looking the other way at the time, so she didn't catch the evil eye Scully
threw at her. Other than that initial shock, Scully had felt more relaxed
than she'd been in some time. Relaxed, and accepted.

The smell of fresh-brewed coffee tickled Scully's nose as they walked into
the kitchen. The refrigerator and gas range was relatively new, the cabinets
and countertops looked original and very well cared for. Paula Maxfield was
pouring coffee into cups laid out on a black metal tray. She smiled at
Scully and Jane as they came in. "Just in time," she said. "Dana, how do you
take it?"

"Milk, no sugar," Scully answered. "Can I help?"

Paula shook her head, pouring the last of the coffee into a large white mug
adorned with the Red Sox' logo. "You did enough helping out with the dishes.
Normally, we don't let guests work in this hotel." She put sugar and
sweetener packets and a small pitcher of milk onto the tray. "Jane, would
you take this downstairs, please?"

"Sure, Mom," her eldest daughter said promptly. She hoisted the tray and
winked at Scully. "See you down there."

"Yup," Scully nodded to her as Jane walked carefully out of the room. Two
mugs were left on the counter; Paula added milk to one from a plastic jug.
Scully took a deep breath. *Here we go·*

Paula handed the mug to Scully and held her own mug with both hands. "I'm
sure I asked this already, but did you get enough to eat?"

Scully laughed. "I don't know how anyone _couldn't_ have. It was all
wonderful."

Paula beamed. "We've got some good cooks in this family." She looked at
Scully over the top of her cup. "I'm very glad you could come."

Scully leaned against the opposite counter. "I'm glad I could, too." It had
been a near thing; Mulder & Scully's plane touched down at National only
forty-five minutes before Scully had planned to leave for Boston. *Thank God
we flew into National, not Dulles or BWI.* "Thank you for having me," she
continued. "Max has told me so much about all of you. I'm glad I got the
chance to meet you in the flesh." *Don't gush _too_ much,* she chided
herself. *You sound fake.*

Paula smiled into her cup. "I don't get many chances to show my children
off. I'm very proud of all of them. " She looked off down the hall.
"Sometimes I think Jane wishes she hadn't stopped working after she had the
twins. She married late, the latest of all the kids. She still takes
contract work from her old accounting firm, but... Well, there was a time
when she talked about _running_ that firm·"

"Being a mom's one of the toughest jobs there is," Scully said firmly. "From
what I can tell, she's done pretty well."

"Yes, she has," Paula agreed, picturing her youngest grandchildren,
marveling again at how young they made her feel. "Jack and I, we never
cared· No, that's not right. We _did_ care if our children were successful,
in whatever they did. But most of all, we wanted them to be happy." She
winced. "That sounds trite, doesn't it?"

"Not at all," Scully told her, taking a long sip of coffee. Good coffee was
apparently a Maxfield family tradition.

Paula was looking into her cup again. "Rebecca hasn't had a lot of happiness
in the last few years." Beat. "Not _personally_, anyway. She's done so well
in the Department. Jack came close to busting whenever he talked about all
she accomplished·" She sighed. "But she never had· oh, a lot of good fortune
_personally_." Beat. "She was never really happy with Richard." Her smile
wasn't rueful, but it _was_ faint. "Then we found out why."

"Max tells me you were very supportive of her." Scully put her cup down on
the counter behind her. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back.

Paula's smile stayed the same size. "I don't believe the Lord wants us to
live life in misery," she said simply. The battles with her late husband
over her daughter's sexual orientation were a private matter. "Even so," she
went on, "her time with DeeDee wasn't much better, in the long run. DeeDee
was nice enough, but there was· an edge, I guess. To us. To Rebecca·" She
turned her back to Scully, opening the coffeemaker and pulling out the
filter. "In the end, it wasn't much better than it was Richard."

"So I understand."

Paula opened the cupboard under the sink and tossed the filter into a small
garbage can. Then she took the coffeepot and began to rinse it. "I hope you'
ll also understand why I'd be concerned about my daughter being
head-over-heels about someone she didn't even know two months ago."

Scully kept her voice even. "You don't want her to be hurt again."

Paula put the pot into the sink to drain and turned the water off. She
looked chagrined as she turned around. "I admit that was what went through
my mind." She smiled again. "That's why I'm glad I got the chance to meet
you. See you with Rebecca. What you two have·" She shook her head. "I'll be
honest. I'm afraid I still don't understand it. My upbringing was very
strict, very· specific, I suppose you could say·"

"I think we might have had the same upbringing," Scully said softly.

Paula smiled at Scully's cross. "So I see."

Scully looked down at the floor. "I'm still a little shocked at this
 myself," she admitted. "Not only did I not know your daughter two months
ago·" She took a breath. "·but all my previous relationships had been with
men."

Surprise appeared on Paula's face. "You'd never·"

Scully shook her head firmly. "Never _ever_," she said, still addressing the
floor.

Paula digested this, then shook her head herself. "This life is full of
surprises."

Scully's laugh was whisper-quiet. "It surely is." She looked up at Max'
mother. "Max tells me you grow roses."

Paula frowned, taken off-guard by the change in subject. "Yes. I'm sorry you
weren't here a few months ago. This year's batch was stunning."

Scully knew this, too. During her enforced medical leave, Max had gotten two
pictures of Paula's roses professionally framed; it was going to be her
mother's Christmas present. "Would you say sunshine and water are necessary
to a rose's survival?"

Paula cocked her head, still trying to figure out where Scully was going. "I
'd say they were essential."

Scully nodded. Swallowed. Cleared her throat. "Max· is sunshine and water
for me." She looked off, not seeing Paula's reaction to her words. "I'm
usually very· deliberate about my life. Especially about my personal life. I
don't get involved with someone without a great deal of time and thought."
She swallowed again. "But even though I've only known Max a little more than
a month· I know that life without her· is impossible." For a split second,
Scully was back in the bullet-pocked living room of the South Shore Women's
Center, hovering over Max' prone form, frantically searching for any sign of
life, terrified there would never be any. She dismissed the memory, though
not without difficulty. She looked back at Paula, whose eyes were misty.
"Your daughter is very special, Mrs. Maxfield. And I love her very much."

Paula sniffed. Her smile was warm and kind. "Like I said," she finally said,
her voice husky, "I'm very glad you could come." She held out a hand. "I
think Jack would have liked you very much."

Scully took her hand and squeezed it, sniffing back a tear herself. *I know
this is only half the battle, but thank God it went this well.*

A light tapping broke the tableau. Max was peeping around the doorway to the
dining room, looking decidedly hesitant. "This a private party, or can
anybody crash?"

Paula held out her other hand to Max. "Come on in, darling." Max walked over
to her mother, who wrapped her free arm around her youngest daughter. "We
were just finding out how much we have in common."

Max hugged her mother back and winked at Scully. "You put mustard on
Thanksgiving turkey sandwiches, too?"

Scully laughed. "That sounds good."

Max looked happily disgusted. "Is _not_! Ruins the flavor of the
cranberries!"

Paula kissed the top of Max' head. "You _want_ all your children to be
perfect," she sighed dramatically.

Max gave Paula a quick buss on the cheek. "Chris just found 'Hard Day's
Night' on one of the movie channels." Paula brightened noticeably. She had
loved the Beatles from the first note, as her record collection testified.
Max grinned at Scully. "And Jamie and Mike want to know if we want to _try_
and take the title back."

Scully's eyebrow took the express elevator. "Your emphasis or theirs?"

"Theirs."

The Mulder Smirk came naturally to Scully. "Them's fightin' words."

"I'll leave you two to plot your revenge," Paula chuckled. "I have to go
moon over George Harrison." She gave Max a hug and Scully a hand-squeeze,
and walked out of the kitchen.

Scully and Max embraced as soon as she had gone, Max' head on Scully's
chest. "You look like you feel much better," Max said softly.

Scully stroked Max' hair. "I'd ask you to dance, but there's no band."

"Losing the weight of the world does tend to make you light on your feet."
They both giggled. Max looked up happily, hugging Scully a little tighter.
"They love you."

"They _like_ me," Scully corrected her. Then she smiled. "But it's a good
start."

Max' dimples were deep as twin oil wells. "_I_ love you."

Scully stroked Max' cheek. "What a coincidence."

***

<<MAX MAKES A DELIVERY>>

Bridgit Benedetto was used to people giving her the once-over. She came from
a very handsome gene pool: The Homicide detective known as 'B Squared' was 5
'7" in bare feet, with the sleek build of a swimmer, a sport she lettered in
at St. Thomas Catholic. Her curly dyed-blonde hair just touched her
shoulders, she needed no makeup to improve her features, and she made any
clothing style look like it was designed especially for her.

Her looks were certainly one of the reasons why she was getting stares as
she sat patiently on the hard wooden bench. The main reason, though, was a
tearful young African-American teenager named Shawndelle Wilson. Shawndelle
was handcuffed to Bridgit's left wrist so she wouldn't take flight; they
were sitting in the lobby of DC Police Headquarters, so the murder suspect's
flight instincts were running on all cylinders.

"Why you doin' this," Shawndelle sobbed.

"It's why they pay me the big bucks," Bridgit sighed. She'd lost count of
the times Shawndelle had asked that same question.

Shawndelle voice dropped to a whisper. "They ain't come down yet! _She_ ain'
t come back yet! We can still get _away_·"

Bridgit's expression fell somewhere between humor and pity. "What, are we
Thelma and Louise now? We're a long way from the Grand Canyon, honey. And I
left my T-Bird in my good purse."

Shawndelle's eyes squeezed shut, pushing more tears down her cheeks. "They
gonna give me th' _neeeeeduhhhhhhhllll_·"

"Bullshit." Bridgit was trying not to get fed up. "Think a little,
Shawndelle! You didn't blow up a busload of nuns! You killed a _drug
dealer_! They're not real popular with juries to start with, you understand?
And you've been tellin' us all the way down from Boston how shitty MoonDogg
treated you. How he beat you. How he threatened to turn you out if you didn'
t jump when he said 'Frog.' You tell that to your attorney, he writes a
song-and-dance about it, and the only needle in your future is the one you
use to darn your socks." She looked away. "Maybe you even get off, you never
know."

*Unless you get a Public Defender who's more interested in pleading out so
he can beat the lunch rush at McDonald's,* Bridgit thought, acceding to
reality. *Girl needs _some_ hope, though·* She gave the 19 year-old a
sidelong look. Shawndelle wasn't looking hopeful but she wasn't crying as
hard.

Max walked up them, hands in pockets. "How we doing here?"

"_I'm_ fine," Bridgit answered, nodding towards Shawndelle. "_She's_ buggin'
."

"She's got the right," Max declared quietly. She took a packet of tissues
out of her raincoat pocket and squatted down in front of Shawndelle. "Hey, c
'mon, girl!" She pulled out a Kleenex and wiped the tears from the girl's
cheeks. "We can't turn you over looking like this! They might think we made
you listen to us _sing_, or something!"

Bridgit nudged Shawndelle. "'Sides, these guys we're waiting on might look
like Denzel and Wesley. You gotta look _good_!"

Shawndelle held still while Max wiped off her face. "Prolly look like that
fat white guy from  TV," she said flatly.

"_Both_ of them?" Max looked appalled at the concept.

"A fate worse than homework," Bridgit put in earnestly.

That got a giggle and a short smile from Shawndelle. The smile quickly faded
when two stone-faced men came down the stairs and walked towards them.
Neither of them looked like Dennis Franz. *They're not Denzel and Wesley,
either,* Max thought wryly, sizing up the two pasty-faced, semi-rumpled
Homicide detectives.

The older of the two came up to Max. "Detective Benedetto?"

Bridgit stood up. "That'd be me," she sighed.

The younger detective did a mild double take. "_You're_ Benedetto?"

Bridgit produced her ID. "That's right," she said listlessly. She was well
aware she didn't look like a Benedetto. She'd been reminded of this all
through secondary school, where the kindest nickname she got was 'Zebra.'

The older cop moved on, ignoring his partner's faux pas. "Sergeant Shanahan,
Detective Mankoff." He nodded at Shawndelle. "Is this her?"

"No," Max said off-handedly. "She won a contest on MTV. First prize was a
weekend in the DC Jail."

"Second prize·" Bridgit began.

Shanahan finished the sentence, flashing an indulgent smile. "Is _two_
weekends in the DC Jail. You got papers for me to sign?"

Max handed him the transfer papers. Shanahan sat down on the bench and
signed them with a black ballpoint, using the bench as a backstop. Bridgit
uncuffed Shawndelle's wrist; Mankoff took the wrist and pulled it behind
Shawndelle's back. Then he took her other arm and cuffed both wrists
together. Shawndelle sucked in a breath.

"Easy," Bridgit admonished. "She's not Squeaky Fromme."

Mankoff wasn't apologetic. "She ain't Princess Di, either."

Shanahan offered paper and pen to Max. "Your turn." Max sat down next to him
and signed her name. "Good trip," he asked her.

Max didn't look up. "Beats busting up home invasions." Shanahan gave the
short laugh of a Homicide old-timer. Bridgit made an indeterminate sound.
Mankoff was too busy making sure Shawndelle wouldn't escape to add a
comment.

Max checked the paper one more time to make sure everything was signed,
initialed and dated. She tore off the original as she stood up. She handed
the pink copy to Shanahan; they shook hands. "Thanks for your help," he
said, almost sounding genuine.

"Any time," Max said neutrally.

"You hang tough, Shawndelle," Bridgit told her former charge. Shawndelle
didn't answer, but she didn't cry as she was led away.

Max and Bridgit watched them go, then they picked up their bags and headed
for the door. "What do you think," Bridgit asked.

Max shrugged. "She gets a good PD, she might come out okay."

"There's no such thing as a good PD," Bridgit said glumly, holding the door
for Max.

"Oh, I've known a few," Max said, remembering the time DeeDee tore the Bear
to ribbons on the stand.

The light snow was still coming down as they came out onto M Street. Bridgit
turned up the collar of her waist-length sheepskin jacket. "Well, that's
_our_ good deed for the day. Wanna get some _real_ food?"

Max shook her head. "I've got a ride coming."

"You get a hold of your Feebie friends?"

"One of them," Max nodded. "He's picking me up in a few." She adjusted the
black wool beret so it sat at the proper angle. "You want a lift? I'm sure
he won't mind·" *Shit, his eyes'll fall out of their sockets when he sees
_you_·*

Bridgit shook her head. "Gotta keep my proficiency up on the Metro. There's
a stop right near my mom's place. When do you want to head back?"

Max shrugged. "How long can you deal with your mom?"

Bridgit's expression hardened. "My _ mom's_ cool. It's my _sister_ that'll
drive me to drink. It'll be a miracle if I can get through lunch tomorrow
without strangling her in mid-monologue." She shook her head. "If I'd known
Micki was gonna become the brains for a Republican congresscritter, I'd have
smothered her in her crib."

"Ahh, you're just bummed 'cause we're in charge now," Max said lightly,
always ready to tweak a Democrat.

Bridgit pointed at her. "Hey, I wouldn't care if _aliens_ were running
things. I just don't wanna hear how Micki is so _important_ to the whole
process! God sakes, Wynton Marsalis doesn't blow his own horn as much as she
does!"

Max felt for Bridgit. Sometimes it was hard to remember everyone did not get
along as well with their siblings as Max did with hers. "It's just _lunch_·"

Bridgit was unmoved. "Yeah, but it'll piss me off for the rest of the day.
Then Mom'll ask me for the millionth time why I can't get along with my
little sister, and yadda yadda yadda·"

"Not good," Max observed. "Tell you what: I want to try and check out an
exhibition at the National Gallery. How 'bout we meet at the shuttle counter
around 6 tomorrow night, and we'll catch the next flight back. Deal?"

Bridgit seemed to think about it. "I can _probably_ keep from killing Micki
'til then."

"Well, don't sweat it." Max' eyes turned mischievous. "If you succumb to the
urge, you've got friends in DC Homicide."

That broke Bridgit up. "Yeah, right."

A horn beeped twice. "Somebody here call a cab?"

The two women looked. Mulder sat behind the wheel of a slush-splashed blue
Taurus, leaning over so he could yell out the open passenger window. He
blithely ignored the outraged horn blasts of the beat-up taxi behind him.
The cab driver gunned his vehicle around Mulder, flashing him the finger and
yelling at him in Greek as he went by.

Max grabbed her bag. "My fairy Godmother never lets me down."

Bridgit pursed her lips. "You've been holding out on me."

"Jeez, B, he's just a _friend_," Max chided.

Bridgit didn't leer, but she came close. She leaned over to whisper in Max'
ear. "With friends like that, who needs vibrators?"

Max rocked with laughter. "_Sure_ you don't want that ride, now?"

Bridgit picked up her hanging bag. "Why should I impinge on _your_
 pleasure?" She slung the bag over her shoulder and held out a pinkie
finger. "See you tomorrow."

Max locked her pinkie to Bridgit's and tugged, the Homicide ritual
handshake. "Don't stress too hard," she advised.

_Now_ Bridgit leered as she walked away. "You neither," she called over her
shoulder.

Mulder had popped the trunk release while he was waiting. Max threw her gym
bag in the trunk and jumped in before Mulder annoyed any more cab drivers.
"How you doin', partner," she said, giving him a quick buss on the cheek.

Mulder put the Taurus in gear and pulled away from the station. He caught a
glimpse of Bridgit in his side-view mirror. *I'll buy _that_ for a dollar.*
"You should have offered your friend a ride," he said innocently.

"Already did." Max put on her seat belt. "She didn't want to play Third
Wheel."

"Am I providing cover fire," Mulder asked, Smirking merrily.

"I don't do that shit," Max said dismissively. "I told her you were just a
friend, but she ran with the assumption."

Mulder snapped his fingers dramatically. "Curses. Foiled again."

"Get your _own_ dates, Cassie Nova," Max laughed. She squeezed his leg. "You
still haven't told me how you are."

The Smirk lessened. "I can hold the wheel with both hands."

Max frowned at him. "Mom," she called into the back seat, "Mulder's talking
in non sequiters again!"

"I'll explain some time, preferably when we're able to get really, _really_
drunk." He fished his cellular out of his coat, pulled up the antenna with
his teeth, and handed it to Max. "Hit 'Power,' press 'Memory', press 6, and
order what you want. I'm buying."


<<SCULLY GETS A VISITOR>>

On the rare occasions Scully took a Personal Day, Catholic Guilt insisted
she do something other than lie around in sweatpants and a T-shirt
contemplating the ceiling. (That behavior was reserved for Sick Days.) Today
she had broken her own record for compulsive behavior: She paid her bills,
balancing her checkbook to the penny. Five loads of laundry were folded and
put away. She put pictures in the frames she'd bought on the way home the
night before, arranging and re-arranging them with her other photos until
the display was perfect. She even did a fast maintenance-clean on the
kitchen and bathroom, though neither room looked like it needed it. Her
actions were mundane as hell, but Scully needed mundane in the worst way
that day.

Now she paced around the living room like a caged tiger. She hadn't been
sitting down more than five minutes when Mulder called. An X File had
dropped on his desk as he was leaving the office, and he just _had_ to go
over it with her tonight -- something about sightings of lights in the
Florida Keys, and eviscerated alligators showing up on the same stretch of
beach. Too complicated to talk about on the phone, too hot to wait until
Monday. *I need to explain the word 'weekend' to Mulder,* Scully fumed. She
was one of the most career-driven people she knew, and she had been a full
partner in Mulder's quest for the truth for quite some time. And yet, there
were more than a few days where Scully wished she didn't know the X Files
existed.

Not being able to reach Max made things even worse. A Red Ball had reared
its ugly head a week ago. Five Juvenile Hall rejects were trying to break
the Greater Boston record for home invasions, leaving dead, broken bodies in
their wake. The entire squad was working the case, and Max had been
practically living at the station since then, making long drawn-out phone
calls difficult, and phone sex out of the question. *Hell, even if we
_could_ talk, she's never at the station when I call.* Max had left messages
on Scully's machine, but she refused to call Scully in the field because she
might interrupt her at a crucial moment. *I'll get her a pager for
Christmas,* Scully decided. She smiled in spite of her anger with Mulder.
*We can set up a signal system: One if by hand, two if by·*

The doorbell rang, bringing Scully's ire back.  She pushed herself off the
couch and stalked over to the door. *Mulder,* she thought as she undid the
locks and opened the door, *if this even _feels_ like a wild goose chase, I
swear I'll-*

"Capitol Pizza. Unlike Congress, we deliver. One large Veggie, extra
mushrooms?"

Scully's brain stalled out, causing her jaw to fall free. Max was standing
in the hallway, a red gym bag slung over her shoulder and a large pizza box
in her hands. Beads of melting snow glittered her black beret and charcoal
raincoat. Her grin was that of someone who'd played a really neat trick on
someone.

When Scully hadn't done anything but look flabbergasted, Max said,
"Ohhhhkay, let's try something a little more traditional." She did a short
dance, looking like a leprechaun who really needed a restroom. "Surprise?"

That snapped Scully into action. She grabbed Max by the wrists and pulled
her into the apartment. Dropping her bag by her side, Max giggled at Scully'
s manic movements; Scully locked the door, plucked the pizza out of Max'
hands, practically threw it on the dining table, and pulled Max into a
ferocious hug.

"Easy, easy," Max laughed, surprised at the force of the embrace. "Think of
my little shell-like spine·" She stopped laughing when Scully started
shaking, then started sobbing. "Honey, what is it?" Max laughed once,
quietly. "Shit, if I'd known you wanted Chinese instead, I would have asked
Mulder to·"

"I love you so much," Scully whimpered. The declaration brought on a fresh
torrent of tears.

Max rubbed Scully's back. "I love you too, baby. Please don't cry·"

Scully's voice was high and small. "I'm sorry· So sorry·"

Max wiped tears away with her thumbs. "Girl, what's wrong?"

"I screwed up· I'm so sorry·"

Max took Scully's head in her hands and pressed her forehead to her lover's.
"Damn it, Scully, tell me what's _wrong_!"

Scully opened her mouth, but nothing came out. In her mind, she was back on
the catwalk, an arm around her throat and her own weapon pressed against her
head. She was going to die because of her own carelessness. And she would
never see Max again.

Max looked quickly around the apartment. She got a glimpse of Scully's bed
in a dimly lit room off the dining area. Max led Scully into her bedroom and
laid her down on the bed. The diminutive Homicide detective shucked out of
her raincoat and jacket, dropped her shoulder holster on the pile, and
kicked off her sneakers, thankful she hadn't worn her boots today. She would
have smiled at the Renoir over Scully's bed, but she didn't have time. The
only light in the room came from a lamp on the bedside table. Max faced it
as she crawled onto the bed and took Scully in her arms. If anything, Scully
's grasp was stronger than before. She cried piteously, holding Max like a
sailor clinging to a raft; Max stroked Scully's hair and whispered soothing
phrases until Scully was able to talk.

It took a while, but Scully was able to get through it without too many more
tears. Max was glad Scully kept her head on Max' chest. Max could control
her breathing as Scully told her tale of the mystery man who killed several
handfuls of people, led Mulder and Scully to a Canadian oil refinery, and
nearly killed Mulder when the bomb in his truck went off. But Max had to
keep her eyes shut tight when Scully told her about the catwalk, biting her
lip to keep her own tears back. The Homicide detective had to put herself in
that detached place she went when hearing a particularly shocking
confession, or reviewing an especially grisly crime scene. It was the only
way Max could fight off the horror that Scully could have been taken from
her.

When it seemed Scully had finished, Max took a deep breath. *Hang tough. You
have to be strong for her.* "You said this guy was Russian?"

Scully nodded against Max' chest. "He said something that _sounded_ Russian,
anyway. It could have been Czech, I guess. The rock came from Russia, so it
makes sense he'd come from there, too."

Max looked up at the ceiling. "You think he was· I don't know, KGB, or
whatever they call themselves nowadays?"

"He definitely wasn't an ordinary tourist. He broke into a secure facility
to steal the rock and murder that doctor."

Max gave a little shrug. "Maybe this guy was the Russian James Bond."

"He had to be in his 70s·"

"So's Sean Connery, and he could still probably do the job."

Max clutched Max' gray turtleneck shirt. "Then why didn't he kill _me_?"

"Maybe it was like he said. His work was done." She stroked Scully's hair
again. "Or maybe the Goddess decided it wasn't your time."

Scully looked up at her; her eyes were bloodshot and her face was puffy.
"But I _put_ myself in that position. I was careless! I didn't see him
because I moved too fast·"

Max tried to sound reasonable. "Girl, did you ever consider that you didn't
see him because he didn't _want_ you to see him? If this old man _was_ some
kind of Russian super spy, he might have been good enough to fool you, no
matter _how_ hard you looked!"

Scully was unconvinced. "I told you that you have to be safe. You have to be
careful. I promised that _I'd_ be careful. Safety first." She looked like
she was ready to cry again. "And then I run headlong into·"

Max cut her off before another torrent started. "Baby, listen to me. When
you pulled Mulder away from that burning wellhead, did you ever give it a
second thought?"

"No," Scully admitted after a moment. *In fact, that was what got me moving
again. Otherwise I'd probably still be there, recovering from the shock·*

Max cupped Scully's cheek in her hand. "Sometimes, in this business, we _can
't_ take time to think. Because someone might _die_ if we take that time."
She paused, considering. "You left a message on my machine last night. I
didn't call you back."

"I know you were on a Red Ball·"

"It ended last night. These fucking _animals_·" She swallowed, took a
breath. "I told you about the Super Crew. Grew up together, got chucked
outta school together, did Juvie together·" She shook her head. "They came a
long way from spray-painting the principal's Datsun. Eight home invasions in
ten days. Killed twelve, raped four, put three others in the Burn Ward at
Mass General when they set fire to the house with the vics still inside·"

Scully watched Max talk, her chin on Max' chest. Max' tone wasn't flat, but
it was matter-of-fact. "So we track down the sister of one of these
 mutants," Max continued. "She points us to their crib, this broken-down
triple-decker in Dorchester. We get there, we hear screaming." Max swallowed
again, revulsion flashing on and off her face. "They'd busted into a
birthday party a couple hours before. They'd brought the birthday girl back
for a party of their own."

"God," Scully breathed.

"Yeah," Max nodded. "I know." She sighed. "We couldn't wait for the TAC
Squad or the Hostage Team. We had to go in right _then_." Scully clutched
Max' shirt again. Max put her hand on top of Scully's. She could summon it
up in a moment: The creaking back stairs, the girl's tortured pleas, the
Notorious B.I.G. blaring from a boombox as they kicked the door in. "It was
over in a minute, maybe less. Hegeman took one in the arm, MacKechnie got
slashed by a switch." Pause. "We wasted two of the fuckers, though." Max'
smile was small and cold. "One of the bastards who was doing the girl when
we came in, tried to use her as a shield? He backed right into me and
Bridgit. We _begged_ him to even _breathe_ funny."

Scully held on tight throughout the recitation, watching Max with frightened
eyes; now she relaxed, if only a little. "And the girl's alive?

Max' face closed down. "Technically, yes. Catatonic. The docs had to give
her a boatload of tranks just to get her to stop screaming." She sighed
again. "She'd just turned 13. She watched her mom get shot, two of her
friends get pistol-whipped. And then they took her and· did what they did."

Scully shut her eyes tight. "Beasts," she hissed.

"That's why we put 'em in cages." Her small smile returned, dripping irony
at the edges. "Because the liberals won't let us put 'em down." She looked
down at Scully. "The girl's a wreck. She may never get really right. But you
see, if I'd hesitated, or I'd made the guys wait for the big guns, the girl
might be _dead_ right now. And if _you'd_ hesitated, _Mulder_ might be
 dead." Scully shuddered, her eyes still closed. Max kissed the top of her
head. "Like I said: Sometimes you gotta act first and think later."

Scully opened her eyes and looked off into the darkness. "So what do we do?"

Max looked up at the ceiling. "Do our best," she said eventually. "We owe it
to ourselves. To our partners." She kissed Scully's head again. "To each
other." Scully nuzzled her head against Max' chest. Then Max added softly,
"And hope the Goddess isn't taking a long lunch that day."

Scully gave Max a long squeeze. "Yes."

"Hey," Max said lightly after a moment, "after all the times I've talked to
Her about you, She'd _better_ not fall asleep at the switch."

Max could feel Scully smile. "You talk about me a lot, huh?"

"I'm probably the least religious person you know. Except for Midnight Mass
on Christmas Eve, I haven't been to church in years, much to Mom's dismay."
Max pressed her cheek down on the top of Scully's head. "But I don't think
there's been a day when I haven't asked Her to watch out for you ö keep you
safe, make sure you're happy·" She paused. "When those asshole senators
threw you in jail, I kept a running prayer going. It killed me that I couldn
't get away, couldn't talk to you, couldn't give you support·"

Scully looked up and kissed Max. "You helped me get through it. Just
thinking about you·" She kissed Max again. "I thank God every day for
bringing me to you."

Max smiled wryly. "'God', huh?"

Scully shrugged. "I don't see God as male or female. Just as· a force, I
guess. What guides us all." She looked at the wall behind Max. "When I pray,
I see white light· Peace· A place I can rest·" *Like the place I saw·*
Scully looked apologetic. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Max assured her. "It's what you believe." She thought a moment.
"I guess I've always thought God was female. Sister Evangeline, she taught
Sunday school? She always talked about God being love and forgiveness, and
everlasting peace." Max shook her head. "Didn't sound like a man to me."

Scully considered that. "I guess it doesn't matter what you believe, so long
as you _believe_."

"Yeah," Max said. She giggled. "_My_, but we're getting deep tonight."

"You bring out my philosophical side," Scully chuckled, nuzzling Max again.

Max' voice turned into the lecherous rasp of a dirty old man. "I love it
when you talk existential to me, baby."

Scully laughed quietly as she looked up and kissed Max once. Twice. The
third kiss was long and soft as their tongues slow-danced. When they broke
the kiss, Scully said, "How long can you stay?"

"That's my line," Max said, doing a fair Mulder Smirk.

Scully rolled on top of Max; the heat in Scully's gaze could heat her
apartment for a month. "My goal is to steal it from time to time."

"I love a woman with a plan." Max' answer won her a kiss on the nose. "Loot
only gave us a day," she said, wrinkling that nose. "I've gotta meet Bridgit
at National around 6 tomorrow night."

Scully's brow furrowed. "Have I met Bridgit?"

Max shook her head. "She's brand new, just came over from Sex Crimes." She
sighed. "She's Mickey's replacement."

"Oh." That took some of the wind out of Scully's sails. But not all. "So she
's your new partner."

*Uh oh.* "She _was_ paired with Hegeman. He's gonna be out til Christmas, at
least. So she's sort of free-lance·" *Weak, Maxie. Really weak.*

Scully looked down. "What's she like?"

"Is that a little green monster I see on your shoulder?"

"Pay no attention to him. Just answer the question."

Max held back another smirk. "She's nothing to write home about. Smart.
Funny. Looks like Tyra Banks, only without the tits·"

Scully's eyes narrowed. "I can break your neck quite easily from this
position."

"·and if she were any more straight, she'd be a superhighway," Max finished.
"She was with me when Mulder picked me up? One look at him, and her salivary
glands went to Warp."

Scully came close to Smirking herself. "So you're saying she didn't actually
_meet_ Mulder."

Max slapped Scully lightly on the ass. "Don't you diss my partner."

"He's _my_ partner, you·" Scully's burst of mock outrage got her a Smirk and
a chuckle. Without thinking, Scully's hands dove down to Max' ribcage.

"AHH! You rotten, dirty·" Max screamed like a banshee; her ribs were fully
healed, but that didn't make them any less ticklish. She grabbed at Scully's
hands, but Scully kept them out of reach. Deciding the best defense was a
good offense, Max dug her fingers into Scully's armpits, her lover's one
weak point. Scully squealed, pressing her arms against her sides to ward off
the counter-attack. That was all Max needed; digging her heels into the
mattress, Max flipped Scully over with surprising ease. Max was on top of
Scully before the FBI agent knew it, grabbing Scully's wrists and holding
them over her head. Scully struggled, but couldn't get free.

"Say 'I quit,'" Max demanded.

"Never," Scully yelled defiantly. She tried to buck Max off her, but Max had
her full weight pinned down, her legs clamped around Scully's left thigh. It
was all Scully could do not to laugh.

Max bit her lower lip, her smile turning mischievous. "Ve haff vays uff
making you kvit."

She leaned down and started nibbling Scully's ear. As she did, Max shifted
so her left thigh rubbed against Scully's crotch. Scully sucked in air
through gritted teeth, her eyes becoming hooded. Max' tongue traced the edge
of Scully's ear.

Scully's mouth was getting very dry. "This· is against the rules· of the
Geneva Convention·"

Max finished working on Scully's ear and began kissing her way down the
jawline. "Fuck the Swiss," Max growled. "What have they done for _me_
lately?"

Scully started to laugh, but it turned to a groan as Max pressed down a
little harder, stroked a little more, rained kisses on Scully's face, being
careful to avoid her mouth.

Max moved back to Scully's jaw, only lingering a moment before dropping her
mouth down to Scully's neck. Scully's body seemed to hum as Max kissed and
licked and nibbled and sucked, working up to Scully's other ear with
agonizing slowness. Scully's hips moved of their own accord, shifting to
meet Max' leg. In return, Max clamped down even harder on Scully's thigh;
Max could feel her clit pressing up against her jeans, the swelling making
her dizzy.

When Max finally reached the ear, she stuck her tongue out and licked,
causing a fresh flock of small animal noises to come out of Scully's mouth.
"I can keep this up all night," she murmured, biting Scully's earlobe. "Can
_you_?"

"Torture me all you want," Scully managed. "I'll never talk."

"Then I will." She shifted so they were nose-to-nose, forehead-to-forehead,
eye-to-eye. "You are everything I want and need. If you were transferred to
NASA and moved to Jupiter, that wouldn't change." She kissed Scully's nose
again, soft and long and loving. "I'm not gonna screw that up by looking for
something better. Because something better doesn't exist."

Scully looked up at Max through smoky eyes. She planted her mouth on Max'
with lightning speed. Max moaned loudly as Scully's tongue dove between her
lips. The pressure and the possible loss of the other had reached both of
them. Max' hands trailed down Scully's arms, freeing her; Scully wrapped her
arms around Max, grabbing at her shirt so she could pull it out of Max'
jeans. It became a blur of arms and legs as they feverishly undressed
themselves and each other, their clothes landing in various places around
the room, their kisses breaking only in the time it took to undo a clasp or
a button.

When they were naked, they assumed the same position, only this time Scully
was on top, her legs clamped around Max' thigh, her left leg providing the
delicious pressure now. Max could barely breathe, Scully felt so fine on top
of her. Scully's eyes were closed as she ground her pussy up and down Max'
leg, her juices slick on Max' bare skin. Max' hips rose to meet Scully's
leg, the exquisite friction sending her reeling. Max leaned up and shoved
her tongue in Scully's mouth, their moans increasing in volume as they
Frenched and fucked each other. Lightning burst behind their eyelids as
their nipples brushed and rubbed. Scully pressed Max back against the
mattress, mashing the ultra-sensitive nubs together.

Lightning became chain lightning and moans became cries. Max grabbed Scully'
s ass with both hands, wordlessly urging her on. Scully threw her head back,
her red hair flying like the mane of a wild horse. Somehow Max opened her
eyes; she simply had to see Scully. When she pried her eyelids apart, she
found Scully looking down at her. Max marveled at the look on Scully's
face ö the heat, the rapture, the gratitude, the love. It filled Max with
unspeakable joy. She brought her hand up to Scully's face and ran her
fingertips over Scully's cheek. Scully braced herself on one elbow so she
could cup Max' cheek in her hand. Max turned her head and licked Scully's
palm. Scully turned her head and took two of Max' fingers in her mouth,
sucking them unashamedly.

That was all they could stand. Max came first, if only by split seconds.
Scully screamed around Max' hand as she went over the edge, somehow
refraining from biting Max' fingers. Max put her head on Scully's shoulder,
gasping for breath as her orgasm rolled over her in waves. Wrapped in a
python-like embrace, the lovers rolled on their sides.

"Love· love· love·" Max panted.

"Yess," Scully sighed. "Oh yehhhhssss·"

When breath had returned and speech was possible, Scully put her cheek next
to Max'. "How did I live without you," she whispered.

Max kissed Scully's shoulder. "The same way I lived without you." Her laugh
was low and throaty, and remarkably seductive. "You settled for less."

Agency lore to the contrary, Scully had laughed at many points in her life.
She'd even laughed in bed, though those moments were few and far between;
except for Elliot Gardner and Jack Willis, the men she'd slept with had been
so serious about sex. Like almost every other experience she'd had with Max,
laughing seemed so much better. And laughing in bed was truly delightful.

-end part 1 of 4-