From: msnsc21@yahoo.com   
      
   OK to send to newsgroup; I'll send to Gossamer and Ephemeral.   
      
   Land of the Living I   
   by ML   
   ~Headers, disclaimers, etc. in Prologue section.   
   This is all story.~   
      
   ~x~   
      
   Chapter One   
      
   ~San Francisco International Airport~   
      
   He used to play this game with himself after Samantha's   
   disappearance.    He plays it now, waiting for   
   Scully.     
      
   He shuts his eyes as he hears the counter person officially   
   announce the flight's arrival.  He keeps his eyes shut and   
   slowly counts another twenty, hearing happy reunion sounds   
   around him.  After a third count to twenty he slowly opens   
   his eyes.  He stands up, a head taller than most of the   
   people milling around him, and watches as the flood of people   
   from the jetway slows to a trickle.  At last he spots her   
   coming around the bend in the ramp, her face in its public   
   mode:  untouchable, remote, eyes focused on something in   
   the middle distance.  She's wearing black leggings, boots,   
   a black leather jacket, and a bulky charcoal turtleneck.   
   All in black, there's a surprise.  She seldom wears anything   
   else anymore.   
      
   He watches her approach.  She hasn't looked up yet, hasn't   
   seen him, and he's grateful for the opportunity to observe   
   her unaware.  Maybe he can gauge her mood, though he's as   
   often wrong as right.  She's a better judge of his moods   
   than he of hers.  It doesn't matter.  She has come to him,   
   and he loves her.   
      
   The words appear in his head without conscious thought.   
   He's thought them before, even said them to Scully once.   
   He knows their truth as entirely as anything in his life.   
   *More* than anything in his life.  Too much has been taken   
   away or been disproved for that assertion to carry the   
   weight it should.   
      
   They are poised on the edge of something, not for the first   
   time, but, he hopes, for the last time.  He's ready to make   
   the leap.  He hopes her presence here means that she is,   
   too, that she hasn't made this cross-country journey to   
   humor or appease him, or because she thinks he's too fragile   
   to oppose.  He doesn't think this is the case, but he can't   
   always tell with Scully.   
      
   Then all at once the crowds part and she's right there   
   before him.  "Hi," she says, with a small smile.   
      
   "Hi," he says back, and almost leans down to kiss her,   
   but stops himself.  He clears his throat nervously.  "How   
   was your flight?"   
      
   "Long," she sighs, rolling her neck.  They stand looking   
   at each other for a moment.   
      
   "Do you have luggage?" he asks.  She nods.  "Let's go get   
   it and get out of here."  He takes the carry-on from her   
   and swings it over his shoulder.  To his surprise, she   
   takes his hand in hers and keeps it there until they get   
   to Baggage Claim.   
      
   While they wait for her baggage, he asks,  "Are you   
   hungry?"   
      
   "Not really, I had some dinner on the plane."  He knows   
   what this means.  She picked at her entree, maybe nibbled   
   at the bread or the dessert.   
      
   "Well, we have about a two hour drive ahead of us," he says.   
   "We can stop on the way or have something when we get there,   
   if that's not too late for you."   
      
   "Where are we going?" She sounds a little suspicious, as if   
   he is taking her off to investigate an X-File.   
      
   "I think you'll like it," he says.  He's been there for two   
   days already, and other than the lack of Scully, he thinks   
   it's a nice place.   
      
   He still feels a little awkward around her, in a way he   
   rarely has.  After he launched himself at her in   
   Victorville, the unspoken thing between them presses   
   on him.  Until they actually talk, he's in a state of   
   suspended animation.  Right now, however, he needs the   
   answer to at least one question.   
      
   "Does Skinner know where you are?"   
      
   She looks at him, considering.  She doesn't want to   
   recount the conversation with Skinner, his inquiries   
   into Mulder's state of mind, his expectation that she   
   assess him and report back, as he had asked her to do   
   during the case.  Scully's firm response had been that   
   Mulder was going on vacation, and what he did on his own   
   time was his business.  She stared him down, willing him   
   to say anything more.  He'd ended up apologizing for the   
   implication, but she's pretty sure he knows what's up   
   anyway.  The request, Scully's non-denial denial, and   
   his concession are all part of the game.   
      
   She says to Mulder now, "I didn't tell him, and he didn't   
   ask.  I just said it seemed like a good opportunity to   
   use some personal time."  He can just see Skinner's   
   expression. Mulder's been the recipient of it a few times   
   before.  It indicates that he sees through whatever line   
   is being spun but he's letting it go anyway.  It's a good   
   thing Skinner hadn't asked; they both know she's not a   
   good liar.   
      
   Now Scully says to Mulder, "Mom asked to be remembered   
   to you."   
      
   Mulder half-smiles.  "You told your mom where you were   
   going."  It is not a question.   
      
   Scully shrugs.  "I told her I was taking some vacation   
   time, and meeting a friend in California."   
      
   "Was she, uh, concerned?"   
      
   "Only about you."  Scully stops and turns to look at   
   Mulder.  "I told her about your mom.  She's very   
   concerned for you."   
      
   "Thanks," Mulder says.  "Thank her for me, would you?   
   I hope you told her I'm okay."   
      
   Scully almost asks, "*Are* you okay?"  but she doesn't   
   think that the middle of San Francisco Airport is the   
   place to start that conversation.  "That's when I told   
   her I was coming to spend time with you.  And besides,   
   she would have found out anyway."   
      
   "Oh yeah, I almost forgot you Scullys are all psychic."   
      
   Scully sticks out her little, pink tongue and makes a   
   face, and it's a good thing his hands are full of her   
   luggage, or he might have to ravish her on the spot.   
      
   In his dreams.   
      
   Still, even this little bit of banter helps him to   
   relax and feel that things are almost normal.   
      
   Once they finally get out of the airport, they cross   
   the city, heading for the Golden Gate Bridge and their   
   own personal Rubicon.  By the time they are over the   
   bridge, he  knows she's fallen asleep without even   
   looking.   
      
   He likes her sleeping in the car.  He allows himself   
   to feel like her protector at these times, something   
   she would never stand for when awake.  This is so   
   much like so many other trips taken across dark   
   landscapes, yet the end of this journey will be, he   
   hopes, entirely different.   
      
   The days without Scully have been long and filled with   
   uncertainty.  Until she stepped off that plane, he hadn't   
   been sure she would return to him.   
      
   He'd dropped her off at the LA airport, and then on a   
   whim, drove all the way up the coast to San Francisco.   
   He spent his first night without her walking all over   
   the city.  He walked through the infamous nightclub   
   district, ignoring the come-ons of the shills on the   
   sidewalk.  Lately, going to the clubs and watching the   
   videos he owns hasn't interested him.  It has something   
   to do with Scully, he supposes.  It was one thing to ease   
   his frustration when he'd decided she was unattainable.   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)