This story is PG 13 for some adult situations. There is a somewhat steamy, (though NOT explicit,) dream encounter between Mulder and Scully, so if that sort of thing gives you fits - even as a dream - you can skip that part. This is not a "romance" in the accepted sense, however, so please feel otherwise safe in proceeding. Thank you to Tish Sears for all the editing help! Comments welcome, critique encouraged, flames humbly accepted. "Those Who Love" is posted in seven parts, all parts posted on September 6. 1995. Fox Mulder, and Dana Scully are the property of Ten Thirteen Productions, lovingly borrowed without permission, and without any intent to infringe, annoy or otherwise upset. The rest of the characters are mine. ***************************************************** THOSE WHO LOVE - Part 5 The dream came up softly, drifting like a fog that slowly cleared to show a sunlit day. It engulfed Scully's sleeping awareness as it gradually came into focus until she was, herself, almost part of the scene. Scully saw green trees so sharp she could almost touch them; could almost smell the dusty dirt road and hear the chatter of summer birds. And although she could not truly "feel" it, some dream sense made her aware that it was late afternoon, and that the day was very hot. A young man sat on the stone wall bordering the road. He was dressed in buff colored breeches and a white blouse. His black neck-stock was untied, and he used it occasionally to wipe the sweat from his face. He feet were clad in heavy brogans, buckled across the instep; his sand colored hair pulled back in a simple ribbon at the nape of his neck. Beside him lay the blue uniform coat of a Continental soldier. Dream sense bifurcated Scully's awareness, so that she simultaneously observed this young man, and also resided inside his emotions; was conscious of both his excitement, and the heaviness in his heart. ******** Jeremiah Colter sighed, and pushed a lock of sweat damp hair off his forehead. He stretched, easing the stiffness in his back. He looked at the uniform coat lying beside him, and knew that it had been both vain and foolish of him to put it all on, but he was so eager to join his regiment that he could barely wait the twelve hours left before he departed. The fact that he even owned the uniform was like a miracle, and had much to do with his father's position in town. Most of his friends would not receive theirs until they reached their regiments, if then. The senior Colter had not been happy about his son's resolution to join the Patriot's cause. Though no loyalist, Colter was of the firm belief that the actual fighting in this war was other men's business, and that is was the task of him and his to stay on the farm and grow the crops that would eventually feed the American troops. He had no qualms about tapping into the fortune to be made provisioning the Continental army, nor was he even opposed to housing the Hessein prisoners that were occasionally brought through the area on their way to the prisoner-of-war camps, or prisoner exchanges, for a hefty charge per head, of course. But Colter's support of the war effort stopped well short of sending his eldest boy into battle for the cause. Jeremiah Colter had other ideas. Fired by revolutionary rhetoric, he longed for war. Though old enough to be legally responsible for his own decisions, he was still heavily under the influence of his domineering parent, a fact as much as any that contributed to his fascination with calls to liberty and self- determination. He had argued strenuously to be allowed to go, and the elder Colter had finally been worn down. The only condition the father applied was that Jeremiah postpone his marriage to Catherine Hewlett until after his enlistment was served. This single condition had almost deterred him. Jeremiah loved Catherine Hewlett with a kind of encompassing passion that wiped out all other understanding whenever he saw her. His eventual marriage to her, the thought of bringing her finally to his bed, consumed his waking thoughts and haunted his dreams. The idea that he would have to postpone that moment for perhaps another three years was almost more than he could bear. He had nearly backed down from his convictions when a desperate call for recruits came up from New York. British General Howe had finally ended his siege on Boston, and New York was anticipated as the next target. Jeremiah's friends, many of them militia-men, where ready to march, and Jeremiah was once again determined to march with them. He would leave on the following morning. Colter senior's only consolation was the fact that he would not be leaving a mere girl from an uninspiring background behind as his wife and heir should anything happen to him. ********** In the spirit of dreams, Scully knew all this, watching the young man. She could feel his terrible uncertainty, and his terrible longing, as if they were the products of her own heart. She also felt, with startling clarity, the young man's physical need for the girl who now appeared at the bend in the road. She was coming to prepare the Colter family's evening meal, as was her duty. Jeremiah's mother had been dead for two years, and the his father had not yet remarried. As daughter-in-law to be, many of those womanly chores now fell to Catherine. Catherine, pretty Catherine. Beautiful, beautiful Cat. Jeremiah physically ached for her, and Scully ached with him. She tossed softly on her pillows, disturbed by the intensity of the things she was feeling. *********** "And there you are, lazybones, out here gathering wool in the sun while honest people work," the girl said pertly as she approached. Jeremiah jumped to his feet. Catherine Hewlett was definitely a beauty. A slender girl, she nonetheless filled the bodice of her long dress invitingly, and Jeremiah knew, because he had seen their outline when the wind had blown her skirts against her legs, that her thighs were firm and rounded. Coal black hair peeked out from under her white cap, and black eyes sparkled more merrily than was proper for a young unmarried girl of her station. Jeremiah knew that his father did not wholly approve of Catherine, and he suspected that the older man's disapproval was based on this same hint of earthiness his son found so enticing. At that moment, however, Cat's merriness was a sham. This would be her last few moments with Jeremiah until he returned from war. The fact that he was leaving was still not one she could deal with comfortably, but she stood in the road and smiled at him, pretending. "Lazy am I?" Jeremiah protested. "I'll have you know I put in a full day in the fields before I came to watch for you. I was afraid father would not allow me this time," he added with a sigh, "but he merely nodded when I asked." He stood up self consciously, and put on his uniform coat. "So? What do you think?" Catherine sighed. "I think you are the most handsome man I have ever seen," she replied, meaning it. She stepped closer to him, and he suddenly swept her into his arms. She laughed as he swung her around him, then demanded playfully that he put her down. "Someone will see us, here in the middle of the road this way," she reminded him. It was not an idle warning. They were still an unmarried couple, even though publicly affianced, and such behavior was bound to bring censure should anyone see them. Father Colter disliked her already, there was no sense adding to his causes for disapproval. Jeremiah dutifully put her down. "Come up by the house," he told her taking her hand. "No one will be able to see us there from the road." He lead her up the sloping yard to the far side of the house, then took her in his arms again, more insistently this time. Catherine squirmed a little. "Someone will see." "They are all in the fields, there is no one in the house," Jeremiah assured her, holding her tight. Catherine sighed. For all her lush looks, she was really a demure and very chaste young woman, but she was also one who was very much in love. She finally relented, yielding to his embrace. The two lover held each other with growing desperation, as the realization hit home to them both that this might be the last time. "Ah, Katie, the worst is leaving you, I can endure the rest of it," Jeremiah sighed into her hair. Catherine loosened her hold on him, and looked away. "Then don't go," she replied. "You have no obligation but your own desire in this." Jeremiah looked at her sadly. "But I must go, Cat, you know that. You said you understood." Catherine nodded, and bit back her retort. He would go, now, whether she "understood" or not, she was woman enough to know *that*. "I just can't bear the thought of losing you," she said softly. "That you might never return..." Jeremiah took her into his arms again, and this time she did not resist him. ************* Scully tossed restlessly as Jeremiah's aching need rushed through her body. She moaned, almost feverishly, in her sleep. Then she settle down again, and the dream overtook her once more. ************* "Catherine, kiss me," Jeremiah begged her. She looked up at him shyly. "Kiss me. Sweetheart, I love you. I would never hurt you. I just love you so much." His lips closed over hers, hot and demanding. She struggled for a moment, then relaxed, then struggled again as his tongue filled her mouth. He let her go. "We're not yet man and wife, Jeremiah Colter," Catherine told him angrily, "you'll take no such liberties with me!" "Please," he begged, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I need you." Despite her fears, and her sense of propriety, Catherine's own need was no less. She hesitated, then reached for him, and gave herself up as his mouth closed over hers. His hands wandered her body hungrily, and she was helpless resist him. He pulled her against him, and she could feel his need against her body. She struggled to free herself. "Come to me Cat, tonight," Jeremiah begged. "Or let me come to you. We may never see each other in this world again, Catie, I cannot stand the thought that we might never lie together as man and wife. We are such in our hearts, let me come to you." "No." Catherine pushed him away, hard this time. He let her go. "Why not." "It's a sin, Jeremiah. Because it's a sin. We are sinners enough without adding fornication to the list." "It's not a sin if we love each other." "That's the devil speaking in you now, Jeremiah Colter. I won't listen. Such an act is a sin against society, and a sin against God. I close my ears to it." "Catherine, I beg you. I love you so much." But Catherine shook her head. "Please Jeremiah, don't spoil our last moments together..." Jeremiah glared at her, his pride and his thwarted need making him cruel. "It is already spoiled," he told her, walking away. Catherine watched him go, tears welling up in her eyes. He would forgive her, she knew, before the evening was done, he would not leave her in anger like that. At least she hoped he would not. But even still, the disagreement would overshadow their last moments together. The only thing that comforted her was the certainty that she was right, that she had saved his very soul from damnation by refusing to succumb to his temptations. She sighed and wiped her eyes. She looked up at the lowering sun, and reminded herself that there was still a family meal to prepare before the rest came back from the fields. She wiped her hands on her skirt, and walked with forced calm over to the well. ****************** Scully felt Jeremiah's anger and frustrated need for physical release with an intensity that was almost overpowering. She rolled over, and nearly awoke. The dream faded, slightly, as she rose and fell in sleep. Then she wrapped her arm around her pillow, hugging it close, and settled back down. The dream reasserted itself, sharper, now, but somehow changed. The young woman still stood by well, but she was no longer the dark hairdo beauty called Catherine Hewlett. Even in sleep Scully felt both a mild shock, and a sudden thrill of excitement as she recognized herself in the long dress, her light auburn hair tucked demurely up under the ruffled white cap. There was a momentary sense of dislocation, as she both viewed, and experienced the scene, and then sleep deepened, and her consciousness surrendered itself to the dream. ****************** Dana leaned over the well, and felt the cool, moist air rising up from its depths, caressing her face. It smelled sweet and soothing. "Don't fall in," a familiar voice, musical with barely contained laughter, warned behind her. Dana turned, and saw Fox, standing there, grinning at her. She smiled broadly. "Hi," she said, sounding a little surprised. He was wearing the uniform of a Revolutionary War grenadier, and Dana was startled to see how elegant he looked in it. She saw the bright sparkle of his hazel green eyes in the sunlight, the finely chiseled features of his handsome face. Saw too, the adorable, boyish charm that she knew could turn so quickly to capable manliness. Admired the lean, graceful body as he strode toward her. Fox quirked an eyebrow at her merrily, then reached over and grabbed the stone well cover by its iron ring, pulling it back over the opening of the well. "Not that I don't trust your coordination, but I'll feel better if this is closed...," he said, laughing at her. Dana made a face at him, then leaned back so that she was half sitting against it. "Did you sleep all right last night?" Fox asked. Dana nodded. "Yes, very well," she agreed. "Thank you." A light wind teased an auburn curl out of Dana's bonnet, and Fox reached over, catching it and twisting it around his finger. "Don't," she admonished, but not very sternly. She looked a little disconcerted, but not exactly displeased. Fox clucked his tongue at her. "You're always so careful to be proper and correct," he teased. Then he sighed, and looked around. "I'm going to miss all this, you know." He nodded around him. Dana touched his hand. "You don't have to go." Fox looked at her thoughtfully. "I don't know what the future holds for me, Dana. But someday, I will have to go. We all will." He took a deep breath. "The question is, do we go with regrets, do we go leaving things unsaid..." "Fox, I..." she protested. He touched her mouth, silencing her. "Does it offend you that much, the idea that I might have feelings for you?" Dana dropped her eyes. "No, it doesn't offend me..." she said in a small voice. "What, then?" She looked back up into his eyes. "It frightens me. It... it isn't right. It isn't the way we should be." Fox's eyes got hard. "Why not. Because of some stupid, archaic *rules*?" he asked her angrily. She shook her head sadly. Then she smiled a little. "Well, you never were much of a one for rules," she sighed. Fox reached out his hand. "I love you," he said softly, tracing her jaw. Dana dropped her eyes, and took a deep breath. "And I love you," she replied, shivering slightly. He touched her lips. Her eyes, her brow. "So beautiful..." "Fox." He lifted her face to his with a fingertip. He leaned close and she could feel his breath on her neck, feel his lips touch the skin of her cheek, next to her ear. "Fox," she protested, weakly. He kissed her again, a little lower on her neck. She whimpered softly and turned her head a little, allowing him to run his lips down her throat and into the hollow of her shoulder. She shivered and pulled away. "Don't." She meant it this time, and he let her go, a little. "Why not?" "It isn't right," she reminded him. He looked at her seriously. "I love you, Dana. With all my heart, and all my soul. I don't *care* what the others think..." He looked at her pleadingly. "What if something should happen to one of us. What if we died, without ever knowing..." "Don't talk like that." She tried to push him away. Fox held her, but loosely; had she truly wished to separate herself from him, she could have, easily, and he would have let her go. Instead, she tucked her head into his shoulder, and he pulled her close. "I can't bear the thought of losing you." "I know," he sighed. "But we've already come so close to losing each other, and we never spoke." He brushed his lips against her forehead, then he looked down at her. "Kiss me, Dana." She looked up at him, and he saw the fear in her eyes. "I won't hurt you, sweetheart. I would never hurt you. I love you so much. Kiss me. Please." Dana smiled, and raised her lips to his, kissing him chastely on the mouth. He held her against his body, and pressed his lips to hers, not forcing her, but neither letting her move away. He felt her relax against him, and he touched her lips with his tongue. Dana drew back sharply. He continued to hold her, and felt her yield, her lips parting under the pressure of his. His tongue filled her mouth. No longer resistant, she wound her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer; he ran his hands down her body, cupping her under the ribs and stroking her with his thumbs. He felt her gasping and released her slightly. She eyed him, at once wary and desirous. "I love you," he said, kissing her throat. He reached up and caught his fingers in the strings that bound the bodice of her dress. "Someone will see," she warned, panicking, glancing over at the house. "There's no one home, they're all in the fields," he replied. He struggled with the ties, helplessly, as she watched his face. Then resolution came into her eyes, and she reached up, and moved his hands away. Without looking away from his face, she untied the ribbons. He smiled at her, tenderly, then slipped his hands under the fabric on her shoulders, and drew the bodice down. He touched her wonderingly, kissed her neck, her throat, his lips moving slowly, tantalizingly down her body. She whimpered as his mouth covered her. "Oh, God, I love you!" she cried out softly into his hair. Fox found her mouth again, kissed her deeply. He moved his hands down over her hips, and drew up the skirt of her dress. For a moment, the panic returned to her eyes. "No," she shook her head. "Yes," he replied. "Dana, I want you so much. I want you." His mouth caressed her hungrily. Dana sighed and surrendered. "Yes. I want you, too." Fox grabbed her skirt again, and pulled the front of it all the way up. He pressed her back against the well, and she could feel him, feel his maleness pressing on her, wanting her. She swallowed hard, weak with desire. She felt his hand reaching down, touching her, stroking her thighs, grasping the buttons that closed his breech... He tugged the buttons loose, and she felt the fabric fall away; she felt him... ***************** Scully sat up abruptly, gasping for breath. She shook her head, and tried to remember where she was. She looked around helplessly. The memory of the dream was still potent, leaving her disturbed and disoriented. She looked at the clock on the night stand by her bed. It was only 5:30 a.m. Oh, my God, she thought. Of course, there was a logical explanation. The song sung by Nicole White the night before had certainly triggered all those memories of the selkie who had come out of the sea and cast his seductive enchantment over her. She could still feel its pull, in unguarded moments. Perhaps she always would. Scully had reconciled herself to the fact that she, a rational human being, a doctor and a trained FBI agent, had nearly thrown everything away to some magical creature. She could not explain it, but she knew it had happened, and that it had been real. She accepted that it had not been her fault. Mulder had reiterated that over and over to her in those first few weeks afterward, while she was still wrestling with the terrible shame that was the aftermath of the selkie's visitation. Mulder. My god, Mulder, Scully thought. To have a dream like that about *him*! But even that made sense, really. Obviously, she was still feeling the affects of her encounter with the selkie. That, coupled with the story she had heard the day before, about those ghostly lovers, was bound to excite her imagination. Not to mentioned the fact that there had not been a "real" man in her life in a very long time, she thought wryly, not in the romantic, physical sense, anyway. In fact, she had not had a love life in so long, now, that she wondered if she still remembered what that was. Fox Mulder was the closest man to her. He was her partner. She smiled to herself; he was her best friend, in many ways, too. She trusted him more than any other man who was not a blood relative; more than some of her relatives, actually. She would risk her life for him, and trusted him, absolutely, with her own. And, of course she found him attractive. He *was* attractive, and she was neither blind nor oblivious. It was true that, sometimes, when his eyes would sparkle with amusement that certain way, she would feel a quick catch in her breath. Or when he was thwarted in some goal that he wanted badly and his bottom lip would tremble like a child's, she would feel a sudden rush of tenderness, even while she wanted to strangle him. It did not mean anything, but it was probably natural that her mind would focus on Mulder as the object of her unsettled thoughts, especially in a dream. It stood to reason. Of course. So, then, what was this nagging ache deep in her belly; why did the idea of facing him in a couple of hours make her heart suddenly pound? Scully sighed, and got out of bed. Sleep was definitely done for that night. To the shower, Dana Katherine. Get over it. She was fine until she saw him, two and a half hours later, waiting for her in the motel coffee shop. Her face must have mirrored her distress, because Mulder was suddenly frowning with concern as she slid into the booth across from him. "You okay, Scully? You look a little... 'off', this morning." Scully took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, smiling brightly. "I just didn't sleep very well last night." She decided to tell him some of it. He would hear the truth, and not pursue too far. "I guess that song upset me more than I realized. My dreams where pretty unsettled. I was up and down all night." "You should have called me," Mulder admonished. "I'd have come over and sat with you." Scully shrugged. "There was not point in both of us losing sleep," she replied. "They were just dreams, Mulder." Mulder nodded with understanding. "You know, you don't need to come out there with me, this morning. You can wait here and rest if you want to..." he offered. Scully smiled again, more warmly this time, and shook her head. "No, I'm okay, really. It's nothing a good, strong cup of coffee won't cure." As if to illustrate, she suddenly yawned, then chuckled a little. Mulder smiled at her. "Anyway," she went on, "I'm curious, now, myself." "Well, as soon as your ready, then," he replied. "Have your coffee. Bowman came by earlier this morning with the key; he has an errand, and will meet us out there later if he can. Otherwise, we're just to leave the key with the motel proprietor when we're done..." "That's very trusting of him," Scully said, surprised. Mulder shrugged. "The place is empty, there's nothing for us to steal," he guessed. "Besides," he added with a mischievous smile, "the place is protected by its very own ghosts..." Scully rolled her eyes, then grinned at him and shook her head. She signaled the waitress for coffee.