Pinning her hair up on her head, she made a silent promise that she wouldn't get it wet this time. The chlorine in the pool was really strong. A few tendrils brushed against her neck as she tied the top of her suit.

She stood back from the mirror for a few minutes, looking at herself. The high cut of the suit made her legs look longer, the top pulled her breasts up showing just a shadow of cleavage. But for what? He never looked at her like that. Though at this time of nightmares, in this place of death, something joyful and life-affirming would not be unwelcome. The air conditioner was blowing cold air on her. Goosebumps rose on her skin, making her nipples rise and press against the top of her suit.

Biting her lip softly to fight the chatter of her teeth, she grabbed a towel from the shelf over the toilet in the bathroom, then her bag off the tabletop. She'd tucked her key and other items in there when she'd followed him to the pool earlier. Slipping out the door, she heard the automatic lock click when she shut it.

A blast of humidity hit her in the face. She rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand and walked the short concrete walk to the stairs, going down the single flight. Budget motels -- another one of his eccentricities. No indoor pools or carpeted hallways for this man.

She left the covered walkway and moved toward the fenced area where the large pool was. It was hidden in shadow, no lights in the pool, none around it. Surely there was a safety violation in there somewhere, but she couldn't worry about that. Through the heavy summer air, she could hear the sound of traffic on the highway, and the call of a lone nightbird, the faint whisper of crickets and katydids in the grass by the parking lot.

She reached the fence he'd gone over and paused. She wasn't feeling quite up to that little stunt. She didn't have his nonstop adrenaline high. Her hand pulled on the gate, holding the padlock so it wouldn't clank against the quiet night sounds and betray her presence.

She pulled a pin out of her hair and opened the lock. Swallowing a laugh of triumph she went inside. She stood in the shadow of a fragrant oleander bush. Beautiful, but deadly. Just like their killer -- a man who left pictures of himself by his victims. A man who only killed the beautiful, mutilating them until their beauty was destroyed. A man who was himself so lovely, so beautiful to look at, it made you want to cry to think of the depravities he committed.

She watched him in the pool, her own beautiful, tortured man. With each stroke, he pushed himself harder, and as she stared, his strokes became sloppier, his kicks weaker, and still he pushed on. She listened to the nightbird sing, then grow silent as he lost his rhythm and flailed against the water, a deep, gasping breath cutting the night as he choked and sputtered before he resumed his steady reach and pull, kick, kick, kick.

Dropping her things on a nearby chaise, she waited until he reached the far end, then slid into the pool. The water was cold despite the heat outside. She sighed, and waited, wondering what she would do, what she would say when he reached her.

The only sound now was the break of the water as his arms cut through. He was pushing himself toward her now, almost fighting the water as he battled his way forward, and as she watched, he touched the edge, turned, and pushed off from the wall, heading away again.

He'd never even seen her.

She puttered in the shallow end, waiting, her head kept carefully out of the chlorine-laden water. The smell of the chemical mingled with the oleander, and somewhere in there was a leftover odor of suntan oil and sun-warmed towels. All in all, it was comforting on this too hot, too sad night.

Normal. Ordinary. Sane.

And refreshing.

She kicked forward moving effortlessly out into the water and stopped in the middle of the pool. Just over the deep end line, treading the water to stay afloat. He'd be able to stand here. Her senses were alert to his presence. He had stopped now, and was clutching the far wall, panting, as he watched her through hooded eyes.

Hope swelled in her breast, her heart beat a little faster.

"Are you going to join me?" she broke the silence between
them.

"I'm not wearing my suit," he called back, his voice muffled by the darkness, by exhaustion and pain, and by something else.

The moon was shining high overhead. High and full. If only he would move a bit, come out from under the board so she could see his face more fully.

"Why?"

She could just make out the minimal shrug he gave, the water rippling toward her.

"It was still wet. I didn't want to put it on."

A typical answer from a very atypical man. He'd think nothing of not eating for days, denying himself sleep till he was ready to drop, but then wouldn't put up with a minor inconvenience like a damp bathing suit. She was actually surprised he had told her, surprised he hadn't made a run for it when he realized she was here. Or tried to convince her to go, and leave him alone. Instead he was still watching her with the half-closed eyes, and his voice was deep and husky with hidden emotion.

"It's all right," she said quietly. "Why do you need a suit? There's no one here but you and me." It was a challenge, that much she knew, but a challenge for what? And what would she do if he accepted?

He chuckled from deep in his chest. "Do you have your suit on?" he asked.

"I think that you already know the answer to that." She started to swim again; staying still in the water was making her shiver.

"Stop," he commanded her.

"But it's too cold for me not to move. If we're not going to swim, I'll freeze in the water." She turned to head back for the shallow end. "I'll have to go in."

He was still huddled in the deep end, almost hunched over himself, watching, watching her. She was teasing him, and he knew it, but she thought perhaps tonight might not be a night for light banter and sexual innuendo. Too much had happened, too many had died for laughter and lightheartedness.

And yet, he called again, "Stay."

"Then come swim with me." She was moving again, still away from him.

"All right, I'll join you."

Too easy, she thought. Most definitely too easy. He was up to something. But if he was focused on her, at least he wasn't pushing himself beyond his limits in the water. "You will?" she called.

"On one condition."

She could feel his nod even though she couldn't see it.

"Well?" she took a breath, then slapped the water with her hand, breaking the terrible silence that was threatening to consume them. She was treading water again, listening to him breathe.

"What condition?" she demanded, alive with curiosity now. Was he teasing her? Was he even capable of teasing after a day like this?

"I'll swim with you if you'll throw your suit on the deck," he finally said.

She mulled over this for a few seconds. Of course she would do it and he knew it. She trusted him. He trusted her. It was how they were together.

"But what if someone comes?"

He laughed at her mock modesty.

"My rules." He broke into her thoughts, bringing her back to the pool, back to him.

She skinned out of the suit, and slingshotted it onto the deck, hearing it hit with a wet slap.

"All ready." She started swimming again.

She heard him climb from the pool, then looked up to see him poised for a dive, his hands over his head, pointed slightly down. And ... she blushed furiously. Was that an erection silhouetted by the moon's glow?

He dove, gliding under the surface, deeper into the shadowy depths until she couldn't see him anymore. All was quiet. She held her breath, waiting for him to come up for air.

A sharp tug on her ankle made her scream in surprise. Her pulse fluttered beneath her skin like a trapped butterfly.

He came up in front of her, his hands floating behind her. One move and she would be pressed against him, her legs tangled with his as they struggled to keep themselves afloat. As it was, she was still treading water, but he could stand.

"Trust me?" he murmured.

She nodded.

He took her arms and she stilled immediately, letting him hold her up, but still not touching him.

"It was a bitch of a day, wasn't it, Scully?"

She nodded again, and his hands moved from her forearms to her biceps, still holding her up, out of the water, and away from him. She tried to look down through the water to see if her eyes had played tricks on her, but they were in the shadows again, and all was darkness.

"Sometimes, when you have a day like this, you just have to do something that proves there is goodness in the world, light in the darkness, you know?"

She nodded a third time. He had stolen her ability to speak, captured her mind, enslaved her soul, all with a single touch of his fevered fingers on her chilled skin. She swallowed and sighed, "Mulder ..."

He leaned in to whisper in her ear this time, his mouth at her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You are the goodness in my world, Scully." His tongue moved over her neck swiftly, and she knew she tasted of chlorine and something else. Something that was uniquely her. Something he had never known until this moment. "The light in my darkness."

She reached out and touched his chest, running her nails lightly over his tiny puckered nipples. He drew a sharp, shocked breath, and released her, and she backed away quickly. She laughed in surprise and secret delight when he grabbed her ankle pulling her to him. He'd had to follow her deeper into the pool to catch her, and he could no longer stand. He tugged her toward him, pulled her close against him, and she moved her arms as he moved his legs, working to keep them afloat. She tired, and wrapped her legs around his waist without thinking, relaxing into his embrace as his arms encircled her.

He moved a little and she felt him slide against her, hot and hard against her warm, soft wetness. Her laugh turned to a moan. She rested her lips against his shoulder. He moved again. Her mouth opened, and her moan was warm against his skin. She felt her tongue slide over his skin, smooth and taut, and capture the droplets of water that beaded there.

Gently he pushed her away, then pulled her arm. A silent signal to follow him.

'Do you trust me?' She could hear his words in her head.

She followed him until she saw he was standing easily. Her feet touched the slightly rough bottom. The water just barely covered her breasts.

He reached out, then paused, looking at her almost as if asking permission. She nodded, and he gently touched one of her nipples. It drew up even tighter under his caressing thumb. He sought out the other with his mouth.

She gasped at the contrast of his mouth and the water. Hot and cold. Her hands held tightly to his elbows as he pushed her further onto her back.

He stopped, murmuring her name. "Scully, Scully, Scully ..." It was a chant and he seemed unable to stop. He pulled her gently until she was nearer to him. Her arms looped around his neck. He met her with demands. His tongue demanded entrance as it pushed through the seal of her lips. His fingers tickled her furred place, demanding it open beneath his touch. His breath demanded hers, and his heart demanded each beat be answered, and his soul demanded total surrender.

Her fingers twined themselves in his hair. Pulling him closer still.

He turned, pressing her against the wall. Pushing into her, pressing hot and hard and firm against her sensitive skin. She moaned, squeezing the walls of her tight entrance around him. He moved against her. Tiny pockets of air popped between them, the only sound in the now silent night.

She squeezed him again, inside of her. He groaned from deep within his throat. She felt the vibration against her mouth. She wiggled a little, situating herself more comfortably against him. He groaned again and she couldn't stifle a small moan this time.

"Yes," she whispered as he thrust harder into her, making her bump against the wall.

He was beginning to spiral, she could tell. Despite the horrors of the day, and the emptiness of the night, the chill of the water, the awkward angle, he was soaring upward, higher, higher, and she was controlling it. He thrust into her again.

"Yes, more, yes ... Yes ..." Her sighs and moans were coming out fast. Her breathing was turning more shallow. "Oh, yes."

Fasterfasterfaster. She caught his eyes, anguished, and knew he wanted to slow down, to make it last for her, but it was beyond him. "My. Scully," he gasped. "My. Light."

She was almost there. Strong spasms rocked her body against his. She was flying too now, joining him at the apex, striving for the crescendo, claiming the mountaintop for her own. She opened her eyes, finding him staring at her. Absorbing her victory, sharing in her success.

She felt him pour himself into her, her muscles squeezing him tightly as he shuddered uncontrollably. He was like molten lava inside of her. Making her shiver as she indulged in it. Liking the heat and liquid fire as it filled her. Savoring the sight of him as he worked so hard to complete his own ascent. She sighed softly as the last of her spasms ended.

One more thrust, one more burst and it would be over for him. She was beginning to relax around him.

She tensed, feeling the final lunge from him. Seeing him shudder to a stop. Tasting the salt of his sweat where her tongue darted out to caress his shoulder.

He was breathing slowly. Catching his breath.

She felt his breath on her neck as she closed her eyes and laid her cheek against his shoulder.

He slid his arms under her, walking her to the steps in the shallow end. She snuggled tightly against him as the night air brushed her bare skin. He walked to the table and retrieved her towel. Rubbed it lightly over her skin as she sleepily held onto him for balance. He slipped her arms into his shirt; it hung open to her thighs. He buttoned it enough to cover her. Not bothering with the towel for himself, he pulled on his jeans. Zipped them, forgoing the button.

Her arms slid around his neck as his arms caught her up against his chest. She yawned and lay against him. Her bag was hanging from the crook of his elbow.

She could hear the soft tramp of his feet against concrete steps as he climbed to the second floor, but her eyes stayed closed.

She knew he liked to watch her when she was sleeping. Especially when she relaxed enough to lean into him, or slide down beside him. He could never be close enough.

Why had she kept him at such a distance for so long?

He unlocked the door and carried her to the bed. It had been turned down. She slid willingly under the covers, turning in a minute from her back to her side. Curling into a tight ball.

She could feel him standing there, watching her. Hesitating. Unsure. And then she heard him turn to go. She could imagine the sadness on his face, the sorrow in his eyes, the loneliness stealing over him again, and it broke her heart.

"Mulder?"

He stopped, and she could feel the hope creeping out from him, a palpable thing that crawled over her and wrapped her in his need.

"Stay."

She used his own word, holding him now as tightly as he'd held her in the pool.

There was a rustle of denim, then she felt the bed dip slightly as he slipped in beside her. She uncurled and pressed herself against him, sighing softly as his arms slid automatically around her and his head slipped onto the pillow she lay upon.

"My Scully," he whispered in her hair.

She shifted closer, murmuring back. "Always."

End