Gabriel
Chapter Thirty


En Route to Denver
September 26, 2001
4:26 p.m.


The first thing he noticed was the absence of
warmth.  The sheets were cold under his bare
back - they had been for some time, he deduced. 
Swiping the space beside him with his arm, he
quickly shook off the remnants of sleep as he
realized she wasn't there.

With a jerk, he shoved himself up against the
pillows, his eyes searching the room with panic. 
The lamp beside the bed had been doused and late
afternoon sunlight filtered in from the windows,
peppered with the looming shadows of the trees
that whirled by.  Where was she?

A soft sigh made his head whip around.  "Back in
the sling, I see.  Will you *ever* be in one
piece and healthy again?"  Though laced with
chagrin, the words held an edge of humor.  "You
have got to be one of the most accident-prone
people I've ever met."

"Sc. -" Her name stopped short of fruition. 
Tread lightly, he told himself.  If she wasn't
whole again, he didn't want to hazard too much
information.  And if she was, she'd let him
know, surely?  Settling on a safer course, he
asked, "Where are you?"  It was dark on the
other end of the room and his gritty eyes had
trouble adjusting with the annoying strobes of
light from the outside.

A flip of a switch and soft lamplight arced over
the sofa.  She sat at one end, her feet curled
under her, swathed in a dark blue robe.  He
could see her nightgown peek out from its hem,
and judging from the slant of her eyes, she'd
not been awake long, either.  Her hair was
untamed and her cheeks pink; her face showed
nothing of what she was thinking, however.  The
sculpted lines were neither hard with confusion
or soft with remembrance.  It was a face he'd
seen many times before, despite its new look -
enigmatic to the point of inspiring frustration.

This time, though, he swore it wouldn't get to
him.  Carefully easing himself up the pillows,
he ventured forth.  "How long have you been up?"

Eyes downcast, she answered, "About an hour. 
I've had enough of sleep."

Smiling tentatively, he replied, "So have I. 
You should have woken me."  At her shrug, he
noticed for the first time the sketchpad that
laid in her lap.  With a nod, he arched his brow
at her work.  "Something new?"

Tapping the pen on the paper, she still refused
to look up.  "No... it's something I've wanted
to finish for a while now."

He gritted his teeth against his rising
impatience, wanting nothing more than to spit
out her name and his in a flood of words meant
to reunite.  Slowly, slowly... he forced air
into his lungs and said, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."  She stood with a slight grimace and
halted his protest with a wave of her hand as
she stretched.  "I'm just a bit sore, that's
all.  Out of the two of us, I'd say you got the
raw end of the deal."

"I've been in worse shape, believe me."

Finally she looked up; silhouetted in the back
lighting from the lamp, he could see only the
glitter of her eyes as she clutched the sketch
to her stomach.  "I know."

Her firm statement hit him in the gut, exploding
the lump of restraint into a thousand pieces. 
What the hell did those cryptic words mean?

"You know?  As in..." He sputtered a bit, trying
to hold his anger in check. He failed miserably.
"As in, you know.  Or *you know*?"

"Don't get all snippy with me." Her brow drew
together as she stepped forward.

"Snippy? *Snippy*?" His heart fell to his toes. 
That wasn't a word he'd ever heard Scully use. 
"God damn it, Julia -"

"The name," she interrupted, slipping into bed
beside him, "is Scully." Placing the sketch on
his lap, she added, "*Mulder*."

He held his breath, tearing his gaze from her to
glance at the sketch.  It was the one she'd
drawn in the cabin.  He laid on the bench,
waiting for her to come back to him, sleeping
the sleep of the desperate.  It hadn't been
changed by her hand except for one small detail
at the bottom.

His name.  Added in bold, strong letters.

His eyes swept up, taking in the cross that
shone as bright as her knowing, happy gaze. 
"Scully?"  His hand grasped hers, giving it a
tug to pull her closer.

Her other hand cupped his face, smiling as she
ran her thumb over his stubbled cheek.  "You
know, I rather like Gabriel.  It suits you."
Sighing, her lips curled into a mock pout. 
"Guess I'll have to go back to Mulder again,
huh?  Unless you want to be called Melvin, too. 
Though I think I would feel rather uncomfortable
calling you Melvin when we're -"

Her words were cut short by his kiss.  One kiss
turned into two, then three, his happiness
spilling over as he let himself believe.  She
was back.  She was Scully.

At last, he broke away, chest heaving as he
rested his forehead on hers.  Similar in
breathlessness, she chuckled shortly, "Mulder it
is."

He smiled, loving the feel of her, the smell of
her... the way her voice had taken on the low,
modulated tones of Scully.  "You can call me
whatever you want."  As long as she was with
him, she could do, say, *be* anything she
desired.

"Fox?"

Well, almost anything.  He cringed inwardly at
his soon forgotten resolution and steeled
himself to accept her request.  Pulling away,
his smile faded.  "Um... yeah, I guess so."

"Just kidding," she laughed, her fingers moving
through his hair.  "This is nice.  I like it
when you're in a capitulating mood."

"Don't get used to it," he warned, drawing her
into his body as he laid back.  She fitted to
him perfectly, still playing in his longer
curls.

"But the beard has to go," she demanded, all
seriousness.

Taking a deep breath, he thanked the stars once
again for her return.  He'd do anything to keep
her with him, demands and all.  Well, sort of. 
He had to keep her on her toes.  She always kept
him guessing, so it was only right he kept their
patented give-and-take alive.

"Only if you'll do the honors."

"Deal.  Now, the hair stays."

His breath hitched, the memory of their last
night together in the bunker giving him pause. 
It was so eerily familiar, so heart-wrenching,
the way that night could have turned out.  If
only she hadn't been taken... if only...

"Mulder?"

Shaking off the sadness at last, he kissed her
brow.  "I'll keep the hair... on one condition."

"What's that?"

The arm around her back crept under her arm to
fit her closer still and the baby leapt in
response to the confining pressure of their
joined bodies.  "My son will not be called
'Melvin'.  Or 'Little Slick'.  Or 'Gabey Junior'. 
I so much as hear a hint of 'Spooky' and I'm
shaving my head, got it?"

Tilting her chin, she began to spread kisses
along his jaw, her teeth scraping his throat as
she smiled.

"How about John?" Creeping ever closer to his
mouth, she continued, "Or Ringo?  Or Walter?"

Mulder closed his eyes as her lips touched his
lightly, loving the sound of remembered names on
her lips. A brief smile curled under her kiss.

"Keep going, G-woman," he murmured, "This time,
I promise I'll let you know when you've hit it."




End Chapter Thirty


End "Gabriel"


A few notes and thanks:

Though this story ends with resolution, there
will be one last installment, if I can ever
summon the energy to tackle it. <g> Just in case
I don't, I hope this ending is satisfactory. 
Pick your own sex/name for the baby and imagine
a 'happily ever after' theme, and you've written
it already!

Many thanks to Musea, my sisters in writing (and
a few other things).  Their encouragement is
what made me finish "Julia" and also gave me the
incentive to pursue the story through "Gabriel". 
Love you all very much, ladies.

To mountainphile - Mine is done, cherie.  Aren't
WIP's great? ;) Thanks, dear.  Couldn't have
done it without you.

To the Havenites and Stalkers - Too many to
name, but you know who you are.  Hope you like
the finished product.  Now put away those
implements of poking and go bother someone else.
I hear a little encouragement is needed on
something called SOS?  LOL

Finally, to Sybils - this one's for you, honey. 
My most faithful advocate, you never let me
slack off or falter.  Love ya, babe.  (Smut next
time, I promise.)


Thanks for reading,

Mishy