Here we are with the third and final installment in my little foray into the X-files season seven universe. No harm has been intended with this work of fiction and I do not claim ownership to the characters and circumstances. Please don't sue. Thank you for reading. Please drop a note if you've enjoyed this little story or have any comments or criticisms. Scarlet.

FBI Headquarters, Basement Office, one week later:

Scully walks in and turns off the music, dropping their take-out on the table next to the slides he is preparing. She looks better than she has in weeks, the color returning to her cheeks, the dark smudges fading from beneath her eyes. The solo stakeout had taxed her already exhausted body, but their previous week had been light, filled with paperwork and time spent at their desks. It had him antsy to get moving.

The distance between them seems to be increasing by the day. He doesn't know what to do about it. He feels like he can't do anything but also feels like he's failing her by doing nothing. She isn't so much as acting as if nothing is wrong, but she isn't doing anything to bridge the gap growing between them.

He flips through the slides, summarizing the research he's completed, trying to keep his tone even. He glances over. She's engrossed in her salad and he's not even sure if she has taken in a single slide.

"… and I'm not wearing any pants right now."

He pauses a beat and finally she looks up, adding something useful like 'huh' to their conversation.

"You're not listening."

"I am," she says, defensively. He pins her with a pointed gaze. She acquiesces. "I guess I just don't see the point."

"The point is that a computer program has shown us that these are not just random, happenstance, coincidental occurrences and that same program has predicted that in just forty-eight hours even more complex formations are going to be laid down in a field near Avebury… forty-eight hours, Scully… but I wouldn't mind getting there earlier if you don't mind."

"Getting where?"

Was she really not listening to him? "England… I got two tickets for a 5:30 flight."

She complains about the work she needs to complete for the case they just wrapped up. And then suddenly, she's talking about Saturdays and taking a bath.

"Well, what the hell does that mean?"

"What it means, Mulder, is I'm not interested in tracking down some sneaky farmers who happened to ace geometry in high school."

Wow. Tell me how you really feel.

He keeps the comments to himself. They're walking on tip toes around each other as it is. He doesn't need to toss some extra obstacles in their way.

"I'll just cancel your ticket." He takes a bite from the sandwich she bought him even though their conversation has made the bread turn to sawdust in his mouth. "Thanks for lunch."

"Mulder…"

He drops his sandwich back on the table and pulls on his jacket. Her voice causes him to pause in the doorway.

"We're always running. We're always chasing the next big thing. Why don't you ever just stay still?"

"I wouldn't know what I'd be missing," he answers and continues along his way.

Dulles Airport, a few hours later:

He contemplates their phone conversation. He had planned to leave her a voicemail. To tell her that he loved her and was going to miss her. But she answered and it threw him off, so he stumbled through an excuse about pictures and data.

He could feel her distraction throughout the call. He didn't know how to fix it. Nothing like a seven hour flight to sit and stew over a complicated relationship. If they still had a relationship to contemplate.

They hadn't made love since she went on her road trip with the tobacco king. Since he sat next to her in her doctor's office, going from the euphoria of watching their child's heart beating rapidly on an ultrasound monitor to the despair of learning there were still traces of sedative in her blood.

There were no other indications of his assault on her, but the questions remain. Forever unanswered.

He misses her already. Another trip without her. How many more were in his future? Too many to consider even before the questions arose from their recent distance.

She had alluded to as much the morning after the camera crew left their side. She asked him to give her an extra day before they boarded their return flight to DC. She punctuated her request with a dash to the washroom where she lost the meager contents of her stomach.

She hadn't even been two months pregnant then. She was four months now. He couldn't tell. There was no evidence in her face and her clothes hid the changes to her body. Changes that would be hidden to him if she didn't sleep next to him from time to time.

She had been right, then. He needed to give her time to recover, and he needed to start considering investigations without her. Their cases often seemed innocuous enough, but all too often, danger found them – or more importantly - her. He couldn't let her continue to place herself in harm's way because she was following him around.

And then what? They couldn't exactly leave a baby in daycare while they traipsed across the country. Or across continents. Was he forever destined to leave Scully behind?

Maybe this was why Scully has been acting so distant. She's preparing to leave because she knows he can't stay.

Why don't you every just stay still?

Her voice echoes in his mind and he ponders her question, more fully this time. His initial answer had come quickly, almost automatically. What was he missing by constantly moving?

Unbidden, the image of her widening smile as she looked up from the stick in her hand flashed in his mind. He had shared that moment with her. The tears shining in her eyes as they turned from the ultrasound screen to find his eyes shining with tears of his own. Would that be the end of the moments he shared with her and their child?

The plane prepares for landing, and he stows his tray table. The pages he brought to peruse during the flight are returned to his satchel, untouched. The sun is chasing the darkness away as the plane touches down and Mulder adjusts his watch ahead to local time. He wants to call Scully and tell her everything he didn't say in their call before he left. He doesn't make the call. He hopes she's already sleeping and wishes he was next to her. He takes his carry-on and departs the plane.

Washington, DC, Sunday afternoon:

He's in a state of wakefulness that doesn't match his sleep schedule. Too much time spent in airports and on cramped airplanes with nothing to show for his time or expense. He doesn't know what time of day it feels like, having crossed five time zones – twice – but the sun is shining, and he appreciates it after the grey skies of London.

Scully isn't at her apartment when he arrives. He wants to wait for her, to surprise her, but her landlord isn't around, and he doesn't have a key.

That goddammed fucking key.

He debates returning to his apartment. He can call her and tell her that he came home early. His cellphone battery died somewhere over the Atlantic or he would call her now. He doesn't want to go to his apartment. He needs to see Scully. He has no idea how to find her or where to begin looking.

He checks their office, but it looks just as he left it albeit the slide projector is turned off and their lunches are cleared away. Was it really just a day earlier?

He scans the files on his desk, but the case file isn't to be found nor are the results from the autopsy. He heads to the hospital to see if she has picked them up, thinking she would appreciate his saving her the trip if she hasn't.

The report is gone. He wonders where she is as he leaves the hospital, walking the blocks between its entrance and where he parked his car. Suddenly, a hand on his arm is turning him around. It's her and she seems confused by his presence even though she's the one who stopped him. He would have missed her otherwise.

"Mulder?"

"I was just looking for you," he says, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms.

"But you're supposed to be in England."

"I'm back," he explains simply.

"What happened?"

He wishes she would just be happy to see him. "Nothing. There was no event. No crop circles. Big waste of time."

She sighs and he braces himself for her 'I told you so'.

"Maybe sometimes nothing happens for a reason, Mulder."

She seems different. Quieter. Calmer somehow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she smiles and puts her arm around him. It feels like it's been so long since she initiated contact that he almost wants to cry. "C'mon. I'll make you some tea."

Amazingly, her car is parked just a few spots away from his, but he hadn't noticed it when he had parked just ten minutes earlier. In another world, with another job, he might question his lack of attention. But he is undoubtedly jetlagged, and she's only been regularly driving the silver Ford for a few weeks now. He follows her to her apartment and parks in the visitor parking spot he has come to consider his own. She waits for him at the main entrance, fishing in her purse and he wonders why she hadn't kept her keys in her hand when she left her car.

She holds a small paper tag between her fingers, a thin string tied to a hole in the tag. The other end of the string is looped through the hole in the head of silver key. He looks up in time to catch the full bloom of her smile.

"Try it out. Make sure it works."

He takes it, almost reverently, the sharp edges of the newly cut metal juxtaposing against gesture's soothing of his soul. He shifts his duffel bag to his shoulder, freeing his hand and pulling her tightly against him. A small sound of surprise escapes her lips before he captures her in a thorough kiss. She gives herself over to him, gripping his shirt and his waist and he's breathless by the time he finally ends their embrace.

"C'mon, Mulder. Let's go upstairs."

He's laying in Scully's bed, and he can't stop touching her. His hands are tracing every curve, every change, memorizing and categorizing, knowing her body will continue to evolve in the months to come. The curve of her stomach is more prominent than he remembered but is expected. The heft of her breasts, her hips and the extra meat on her thighs surprises him. None of the extra weight is evident in her face and really doesn't amount to much at all. But he has come to know her body and he revels in this exploration of its changes.

"Mulder, aren't you tired?"

He stops watching his fingers caressing her hip and meets her smiling blue eyes. Mentally, he checks himself for signs of exhaustion. Surely, he should be. His thoughts during his flight across the pond had him heading directly to the anticipated crop circle location, skipping the pretense of a hotel room, his instincts leading him to believe he would be returning home quickly. He hasn't consciously attempted sleep since before he left his bed nearly two days earlier although surely, he dosed briefly during his return flight. He shakes his head, smiling slightly before placing a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

He wraps his arms around her more tightly, pulling her body until it is mostly covering his. He slides his hand along the line of her back, the curve of her ass, grabbing one cheek and jiggling it slightly.

"Mulder, stop it," she laughs as she slaps playfully at his chest, but seeming to ignore the hand that had drawn her offense.

"I can't help it. There's more to grab." He lowered his lips closer to her ear. "I like it," he says, his voice a deep contrast to her previous girlish giggle. He nips at her earlobe, before moving to trace his lips along the line of her jaw.

"Mulder, we can't spend the entire day in bed," she protests, but her voice is noticeably less girlish this time.

"Why can't we?" He shifts in the bed, releasing his grip on her ass to roll her onto her back. His lips hover over hers and they await him, open, calling him to taste her.

Her eyes open when he doesn't kiss her. "I still have to get groceries, do laundry. Some of us have to work tomorrow."

"I offered you a ticket." He kisses her then and he feels his body responding, forgetting somehow his age, his sleep deprivation and earlier release.

"Mulder…"

She hums the first part of his name as he captures a nipple between his teeth. Soon he is inside her and her release comes quickly, long before even the hint of his appears and he wonders if she had been waiting for him to take her as he waits for her to recover. She pushes up slightly and he follows her silent request, flipping to his back while pulling her to sit astride. His balls tighten as he watches her lush body move above him. She moves more quickly, purposefully lengthening each rise and fall of her hips. He grips her hips tightly, increasing the pace as she slips her fingers between them. He replaces her fingers with his own and she braces herself on his chest, pushing back, quicker and harder, until she comes apart, calling to him and to God. He takes his fingers from her folds and resumes his grip on her hips, slamming and pumping until he finally finds his release with a strangled call of his own.

Breathless, she rolls off him and he knows the wanton disarray of her hair and her limbs will fuel his fantasies for years to come.

Her breathing regulates, as does his own. She turns to her side, pressing her back to his chest as he rolls to his side, fitting her perfectly between the V of his chest and his thighs. He reaches behind and finds the edge of a sheet long tossed aside. He pulls it up and over until it covers her shoulder and slips his arm beneath, draping it over her waist.

She sleeps, but not for long. How long? He isn't sure. His ability to keep track of time warped by his days without sleep and the shirt that had landed on her bedside alarm clock. The room is still light, and he is sure not much time passes before she stirs in his arms. She shifts her hips, and they brush against him. He remembers how happy he had been to learn that a wakening Scully was often a horny Scully – especially when she fell asleep nude.

Her subconscious movements still as she comes to wakefulness, born less from desire for a repeat performance than her body's natural reaction to his presence. He knows he would be letting her down otherwise.

"Mulder, you need to feed me," she mumbles sleepily, brushing the hair from her eyes.

"Your wish is my command. How 'bout I order us a pizza?"

She stretches as she contemplates his offer. "Nope. No good."

"No good?" She's smiling and he can't help but wonder at the seeming sudden change in her mood compared to the past few weeks. "Anything else requires a shower," he says, rising from the bed, his stomach rumbling suddenly with the mention of food.

"I think a shower is in order regardless."

He sniffs at his armpits and agrees. He realizes that he hasn't showered since before he went to the FBI office Saturday morning. He doesn't invite her to join him. He emerges from the bathroom in less than ten minutes but finds she has already made the bed and has pinned her hair up, ready to follow his shower with one of her own.

"What did you pick? Chinese food? Thai?"

She shakes her head. "Mexican and it has to be from El Diablo."

"But that's all the way over by my place."

"The baby wants what she wants." Scully shrugs. "I already packed my stuff for work tomorrow."

"She?"

"She's being a little demanding and picky. Makes me think she's a girl today."

She rubs her hand protectively over the small bump and his eyes follow the movement in a caress of their own. She heads off for her shower and he towels off, rewrapping the fabric around his waist as he retrieves his duffel bag from the living room floor. He returns to her bedroom and pulls on jeans and a t-shirt before stuffing his dirty clothes back in the bag. He hears the water turn off from behind the closed door as he grabs his bag and Scully's before leaving the room.

He drops their bags by the door, spying the paper tag and key he had dropped on her entrance table. He fingers the paper before fishing his keys out of the pocket of his jacket. He pries open the metal ring, slipping the key around until it is secured next to the key to his apartment. He hears a slight humming coming from her bedroom and he wonders at the seemingly overnight change that has come over her. He stuffs the keys in the pocket of his jeans and turns in time to see her walk smiling from her room.

Maybe she really just needed to give me a key.

"C'mon, Scully," he says, picking up their bags in one hand while placing the other at the small of her back. "Let's go. I'm starving and then I believe you promised me a cup of tea."

The end.

For anyone who hasn't watched season seven as recently as I have, this is meant to lead up to Mulder and Scully sitting on the couch in his apartment as shown at the end of the episode "all things" which is widely believed to be the first time our favourite FBI agents have sex. Obviously, I've chosen to believe it happened much sooner, partly to obliterate any question that William is anyone's child other than Mulder and partly because – well why not? It's fanfic after all. The whole point is to create something other than what we watched on TV.

This was an experiment in POV and tense, largely written in a single day. I would love to know your thoughts on it. SS.