TITLE:  A Simple Kiss IV: Changes
AUTHOR:  Jess < JessLB@aol.com >
RATING:  PG, for language
KEYWORDS:  MSR, M/S married (yeah yeah, I know)
CLASSIFICATION:  SRH, X at the end
SPOILERS:  Oh, Rain King is just spoiled to death. Besides that, there
are a handful of references to a smattering of episodes. Since what
I've written in regards to those episodes are references, and therefore
will not spoil the show if you haven't seen them, I'm not naming
them.
ARCHIVE:  They're mine to give and yours to take. Just let me know
where you're putting them up, por favor.
SUMMARY:  Fourth in the "A Simple Kiss" series. This picks up
where "Revelations" left off at. Mulder and Scully adjust to their new
lives together.

DISCLAIMER: Not only do I not own these characters, but I
admittedly stole, word for word, dialogue from Rain King. If you sue
me, you can have everything but my tapes, VCR, and TV.

--------------------

WASHINGTON, D.C.
JULY 7

When I was young, and my family went to the beach or pool, I was
always the prudent one. While my adventure-loving siblings dived
cannonball into the water, I was the one sitting on the edge, dipping
my toes in cautiously. After I was sure the frigid water wouldn't be
like knives on my body, I would slide in.

If I wanted to be honest with myself, I would say that my entire life
has been based upon that principle: prudence above all else. Never
dive in headfirst. You never know how deep the water's going to be.

It would seem suspicious, then, that I'm standing here, hands folded
carefully on the counter, looking the harried clerk in the eyes and
asking if we could have a marriage license. Please.

I'm not altogether sure how we got here, or who got us here - Hell, I'm
confused as to why we're here. I remember that morning after my first
time, the euphoria of it, the amazement that I was an adult now - the
sheer terror of the knowledge that I hadn't thought it through and what
in God's name had possessed me to do such a thing without having
analyzed the results beforehand.

That feeling has *nothing* on what I'm feeling right now.

Take, for instance, these past few days. A four day engagement. Aunt
Olive's turning in her grave, I assure you. Beyond that, these four days
are all at once a blur and perfectly clear in my mind. Everything about
our relationship is a whirlwind; why should a marriage be any
different?

Marriage. Oh, God, what am I *doing*?

What are *we* doing?

We can't do this. This isn't me. This isn't *us.* Dana Scully, MD,
does not kiss her partner. She doesn't sleep with said partner. She
doesn't trick him into a proposal. And she most certainly does *not*
do the things that we did last night.

I clear my throat, hoping to clear the images from my mind before my
blush gets any redder, and he glances over at me. After a moment, a
slow grin spreads across his face, and I just *know* he knows what
I'm thinking. His lips are getting closer to my ear, and I'm suddenly
*positive* he knows.

"Sc --"

"Don't. Even. Say it," I said with clenched teeth.

His grin widens, but he pulls away and pops another seed into his
mouth. 

I'm almost alarmed at his lack of nerves.

*I'm* the level-headed one in this relationship. *I'm* the one who
analyzed - to death, I might add - the pros and cons of taking our
partnership to this new level. *I'm* the one who pulled him away
from the jewelry store windows whenever we were at the mall, lest he
get any ideas.

And who's standing here, frayed nerves and two seconds away from
passing out? Me.

Who woke up five minutes before we had to leave the apartment,
managed to scarf down an entire breakfast from Burger King, and is
now popping sunflower seeds into his mouth like this is just any old
day and we're just asking the extremely slow clerk if we could see
some records for a new case? Mulder.

I can't do this.

I'm suddenly wracked with a consuming fear. We can't go through
with this. It's a crazy, hare-brained scheme that's never going to work.
We haven't even decided where we're going to live. He leaves the
toilet seat up, he can't squeeze a tube of toothpaste, he's a slob. If
anyone at the Bureau finds out about us, it's certain death. My
brother's found another reason to hate Mulder, Mom still wants a big
formal affair, and my brothers can't be here. Teena Mulder said thanks
but no thanks before she wished us congratulations.

I can't do this.

Why did I agree to this in the first place? Has six years locked in the
basement finally gotten to me? Am I as crazy as he is?

I feel a slight pressure on my left hand, and I look down to see our
hands entwined. He knows I'm scared. It suddenly occurs to me that
maybe he knows what I'm feeling because he's got the same fears as I
do. My eyes trail up hesitantly until I reach his hazel eyes. Nothing but
love, same as always.

Ah.

That's why I agreed to this.

***

JULY 4, 1999

When the fireworks ended that night, and the kids had been packed off
to bed, I left Mulder to his own devices in the living room with Bill
and Charlie, and stepped into the kitchen with my mother.

"Mom, I need to tell you something," I said in a quiet tone, hoping my
brothers wouldn't hear.

"What is it, sweetie?" she asked, concerned.

I shook my head. "No crisis, Mom, just - um. Mulder and I are...we're
going to city hall on Wednesday to get married."

She blinked. "Dana?"

I waited silently.

"Oh, Dana," she said, her eyes misting over as she enveloped me in a
hug. "Oh, Dana."

"I know you want a big ceremony, Mom, but we just want it to be
quiet. Just us and you, the guys if they can make it."

"But, sweetheart, you deserve to have a real wedding. And why so
sudden? Surely, you can wait a few months - we could have a little
engagement party."

"Mom, we really just want to do this now, and with as little fuss as
possible. This *is* a real wedding for us."

After a beat, she nodded. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am," I said truthfully. "We are."


***

PRESENT

We managed to tell the rest of the family that night without any blood
shed. Bill was characteristically moody, grumbling a congratulations
before escaping upstairs. My brother and sister-in-laws were happy, if
not a little mystified in our sudden plans. How do you explain to your
family that time is not always on your side? Mom will be our only
guest in attendance, and I'm a little concerned that she's not already
here. My hands absently pick at my dress as I shift on the
uncomfortable bench. It's getting closer to two o'clock. Then those
doors open, and we go inside and we -

I'm going to be sick.

'I can't do this' rewinds and begins to play again in my mind, and I
quickly find Mulder's lips and kiss him, knowing it's the only thing
that will calm my nerves. It works.

There's another couple sitting a few feet away from us, and Mulder
keeps smiling at the other man. Don't make friends now, I beg him
silently. I let my thoughts wander, in a bleak attempt to get my mind
of off the next fifteen minutes.

Did I turn the coffee maker off this morning? I wonder, frowning.
"Mulder, did I turn the coffee maker off?" I ask.

He looks at me quizzically. "The coffee maker? I don't know."

"I can't remember either," I say, biting my lip and leaning back
against the hard seat.

"Did you remember to lock the door?" I find myself saying out of the
blue.

Another look. "Scully, you okay?"

"I'm fine," I reply, before I can stop myself. My eyes close briefly,
knowing the damage has been done, and I open them to chance a look
at him. He's closed off. This isn't good; not thirteen minutes before
we're supposed to get married. "I'm just a little anxious," I apologize,
rubbing my thumb on his palm soothingly.

Mulder nods his understanding, or at least pretends to understand, and
we fall back into our comfortable quiet for a moment before I speak
again.

"I turned it off." He quirks an eyebrow in confusion. "The coffee
maker. It's off. I turned it off while you were getting dressed."

He's still looking at me a little strangely as he offers me his hand.
"Seed?"

"You know I hate them, Mulder."

"Soda?"

"No."

"Sedative?" he deadpans, and I glare at him.

"I'm glad this is funny to you," I say, hating the fact that I sound more
than a little huffy.

He bites back a laugh as his hand comes up to massage the back of my
neck. "Relax, Scully. I'm sorry I made fun of you. I just can't believe
you're thinking about coffee right now."

I don't reply, letting my eyes roam over the room, wondering where
we're going to sleep tonight.

***

JULY 5, 1999

We escaped the house, relatively unscathed, the next day and headed
back to my apartment. Mulder kept glancing over at me in the car,
never saying a word - just looking. I stayed quiet, too.

Inside, we dropped our bags on the floor, and I immediately flopped
down on the couch and turned on the TV, exhausted. He watched me
for a minute before he picked up the phone and dialed a familiar
number.

Forty-five minutes later, with half-empty dishes from the
neighborhood Italian place to give me strength, I brought up a topic
that had started to gnaw on my mind. I took a drink from my root beer
and muted the TV.

"Mulder, what about the Bureau?"

"What about them? It's not too late to invite Violent Crimes to the
wedding, you know."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

"Mulder," I said, frustrated. "I mean - what happens when OPR finds
out? Skinner barely let us skim by when he found out we were
sleeping together, I can't even begin to --"

"Has it never occurred to you that half of the J. Edgar Hoover building
thought we were sleeping together six years before the fact? And that
the same aforementioned OPR thinks the same as the rest of the
building? If they haven't done anything by now, why would they
start?" he said easily.

"But, Mulder --"

"But Mulder what? If you don't want to do this, Scully, it's okay to say
so."

I looked at him, wondering how he could be so tremendously brilliant
and incredibly dense all at once. "Mulder, you know that's not what I
meant. I just don't want us to be separated."

"You'd rather stay partners than get married," he said, brows raised. I
detected a wounded ego behind his words.

Damn my honesty, anyway. "Yes. I would." He glared at me and
started to get up. I grabbed his wrist and held him down. "I don't trust
anyone other than me to watch your back. I don't trust you out in the
field without me. And I don't trust anyone else to watch *my* back.
So yes, if it came down to it and I had to choose, I'd choose you to be
my partner. I'd rather have you alive and single than dead and
married."

He didn't speak for a moment. "I'd rather be alive and married."

"Yeah, me too," I whispered, moving so that I was up against him. He
put his arm around my shoulders, and we sat quietly for a few
moments before I spoke again. "Where are we going to live?"

"What do you mean?"

"We have two apartments between us. And I don't mean to bring up
the FBI again, but Mulder, one of us is going to have to put in a
change of address form to get our paychecks. And it's going to look
strange --"

"Yeah, I follow." Mulder ran a hand down his face, sighing. "Well,
who's closer? You or me?"

"I think you are."

"My apartment's kind of small. I only have one bedroom."

I laughed sadly. "It isn't like we'll need another one, honey."

"You never --"

"Mulder, we *do* know. And you're digressing. Apartments. Stay
focused."

He conceded the battle, but I knew I had yet to win the war. "Okay.
Apartments. Mi casa es su casa, you know that."

One issue covered, two in progress. I was proud of myself. "We'll
have to clean it first, you know. And go through our things and figure
out what to give to Goodwill and what to keep."

"Here's an idea. Why don't we throw everything away, get a new
apartment, and buy all new stuff?"

"One, we don't have enough money. And secondly, we have two nice
apartments between us already."

"Come on, Scully."

I stood, grabbed our sodas and headed towards the kitchen, thus
ending the discussion.

After a moment of silence, I heard him call out to me suspiciously.
"Hey!"

"Hmm?"

"You called me honey."

***

PRESENT

I'm not going to remember this later.

God, I'm not even paying attention.

I wonder if he thinks this was a waste, too. Five dollars for the license,
eighty for the both of our blood tests etc., fifty for this dress, the
twenty dollar fine we're going to have to pay for the illegal parking
job he did out front...all for what? This nice, private ceremony that's
going to be over in about three seconds and lasted fifteen minutes.

And I don't remember a goddamn minute of it.

"I will."

Was that me? Or him.

They already think we're strange, but there was no way in Hell I was
vowing to love, honor, and obey. Cherish is a song, not an affirmation,
so we kept it simple. From now until we're shot, attacked by a sea
serpent, or almost have our hearts ripped out by a long-dead surgeon, I
will love and honor this man. If I weren't already just this side of
teary-eyed, the bittersweet look my mother had on her face would
surely have pushed me over.

Mulder's grinning like a dog with a bone, and I can't help but crack a
smile when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Shut up, Mulder,"
I murmur as our lips meet in a simple, sweet kiss.

***

JULY 10

I remember when my friend Ellen got married fifteen years ago. I,
always the bridesmaid and never the bride until recently, was nearby
when her mother approached her.

'The first mistake a wife always makes is that she gives in too easily.
The husband never has to put up a fight. Don't let him drag you into
things, Ellen. I'm telling you.'

Fitting I would recall that as I'm standing in the middle of this nice but
pricey apartment, waiting for Mulder to show up. I suppose I always
let him drag me into things. Two a.m. flights out of DC for a UFO
sighting across the country. Lying to our superiors. Breaking and
entering. He didn't even ask me. Last night, he just slipped a section of
the newspaper in front of me while I was putting on my face mask in
his bathroom.

'It has two bedrooms, kitchen, and a living room with a dining area,
and it's closer to J. Edgar than either of us.'

I had glared at him, to no avail of course, and he said, 'Tomorrow at
twelve,' before kissing me and going into the bedroom where he
promptly fell asleep.

So I'm here, waiting for him as usual. If this place is so great, then
why is it taking him an hour to park the damn car? I wonder irritably,
pulling a little at my shirt.

"This heat's pretty unbearable, isn't it?" the realtor, Paula, says
cheerfully,  looking every bit the perky saleslady in her slacks, blouse,
and blazer. I nod wordlessly.

Mulder breezes through the open door a minute later. He nods
knowingly at me. "Nice, huh?"

I simply stare at him, then follow Paula through the house. He trails
behind us, touching walls, opening and closing windows, peeking into
closets, opening the oven, testing the bathroom facilities.

"...and like I said before, it's rather close to J. Edgar," she says, and I
snap myself out of my reverie. "Your husband mentioned that you
work at the FBI?"

My husband. I glance at him, the uncomfortable heat forgotten in my
affection for him. "Yes, the FBI," I murmur back.

"It's only a few miles. You could even walk," she suggests helpfully.

"What do you think, honey?" Mulder asks, using his Rob Petrie voice.
"This place us, or what?"

"It is nice, sweetheart," I reply, my voice dripping with honey. "What
do *you* think?"

He grins. "Oh, no, honeybunch, it's all up to you."

Paula frowns at our little display and moves towards the door. "I'll be
downstairs in the lobby. Just lock up, okay?" Mulder nods, waiting
until she's in the elevator before he chuckles.

"So, honeybunch?"

"Mulder," I sigh. "We don't *need* an apartment. We have two. This
place is over a hundred more than what we pay now."

"It's also nicer," he points out.

"And more expensive."

"Scully, with our two G-people salaries, it wouldn't be a problem."

Still, I stubbornly persist. "It's the extra bedroom that's upping the
price." I fold my arms across my chest.

"It could be a study," he wheedles. "A little library. Come on, Scully.
We'd be falling over each other in our apartments."

He's doing the 'this would mean so much to me, Scully' face, the one
that got me to a haunted house on Christmas eve. I shake my head in
exasperation and close my eyes. "Fine, sure. Whatever." He gives me a
megawatt smile, and we close up the apartment to meet Paula
downstairs.

***

JULY 21

I gave my landlady six weeks' notice, although I'm almost completely
moved out. Mulder's on his way over now to pick up the last of my
boxes, while I've been designated as cook for the evening.

It's still a strange feeling, and I gather it will be for awhile, to 'go
home' from work to the new place. Our new place. Even when we'd
spend alternating nights at each other's apartments, we still had the
ability to leave and go home to our own space for awhile - to get away.
Now, that's pretty much next to impossible. For the past thirteen years
of my life, I've gone home, by myself, to an empty apartment. I've
lived on my own for the most part, and I have my own routine.

Seeing my living room set mixed in with his leather couch, my desk
and laptop in the living room and his in the little bedroom, his kitchen
table actually cleared off and ready for us to eat at, my makeup jostled
in with his razor and toothpaste on the bathroom sink - it's surreal,
almost. I never expected that we'd even confess to each other what we
felt; sometimes I wonder if I deserve this. Sometimes I think Mulder's
guilt complex has worn off on me.

I use my key to open the door, dropping my purse and briefcase on the
table in the foyer, kicking my shoes off into the bedroom and drop
onto the couch. This is entirely too normal.

I'm *married.*

A quick glance over at the calendar reminds me that today is
Wednesday. Wednesday - exactly two weeks from our wedding day.

Wedding day. Now there's two words you wouldn't expect to hear in
reference to either Mulder or I.

I stand and go into the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

***

Thirty minutes later, I hear the door open and I wait for the inevitable.
"Honey, I'm home," he deadpans, and I swear I can almost *hear* his
grin.

"I'm in the bedroom," I call back, and know immediately what he's
going to think. Sure enough, the door knob starts to turn a moment
later. "Don't come in!"

I can feel his confusion radiating through the door. "Scully?"

"I put some clothes on the couch. Put them on."

Again, "Dana?"

"Mulder, just go with it, okay?"

He sighs, obviously at a loss. "Whatever," I hear him grumble.

Ten minutes later, I open the door with a flourish. My dear, sweet, but
transparently befuddled husband lounging on the chair, remote in
hand. "Mulder, you're wrinkling everything," I say, a little petulantly,
pulling him up and trying to adjust his tie. He swats my hands away.

"You look nice," he says approvingly. I better look nice. This outfit
cost me more than my last phone bill. It's just this much fancier than
the skirt suits I wear to work. And it's a deep, crimson rose. I know he
has no idea if it's red or green, but I can tell by the appreciative look
in his eyes that he finds me attractive nonetheless.

"We're going to be late," I tell him, pulling him towards the door. I
hand him his coat and slip my on.

"What's the occasion, Mrs. Mulder?" he murmurs into my ear as I
open the door. It sends shivers down my spine.

"It's only been two weeks and already you can't remember
anniversaries? I'm surprised, Mr. Mulder," I throw back to him, using
the same low tone that I did that night three months ago when we
played baseball. I know I've regained the upper hand when I see him
give a not-so-discreet tug on his tie on the way to the elevator.

***

We had a lovely dinner, our first one as man and wife. When we got
home, he got on the computer to check his e-mail and I contented
myself to watching an I Love Lucy rerun. And today, two weeks later,
we came to work, I with a small twinge of apprehension in my
stomach.

I know Fox Mulder well enough to be able to sense when he thinks
he's found something worth investigating, be it flukeworms or ghosts.
And even though I'd much rather attribute it to the fact that I've
learned to read him like a book in the time we've been married, I have
to admit that he was - overly - anxious to get to work today. On a
Monday, of all days.

The small twinge is twisting into a mild cramp.

***

AUGUST 1

"Come on, Scully.  You act like I intentionally misled you."

This, from the mouth of the man who handed me a plane ticket the
instant we got to the office this morning and told me we were going to
Kansas.

Said man also happens to be my husband.

We've gotten out of the car by now, and I'm vaguely aware that he's
still talking, something about weather, but there's just one thing
running through my mind.

"A man...controlling...the weather."

***

So I do my duty. I follow my partner around Kroner, Texas. I watch
Darryl Mootz, one sixty-fourth Cherokee, do his song and dance
routine. I get soaked in pouring rain. I get our mandatory separate
rooms, ignoring his frown. And to thank me - to *thank* me, he
decides that three a.m. is a proper time to wake me up.

"Scully?" Shove.

"Mulder, go back to your room," I mumble into my pillow. "I'm
asleep."

"Will you get up?" He sounds frustrated. I move my head over an inch
and peek out through one eye.

"Mmm?"

"There's a cow in my room."

Instantly, my eyebrow goes up. "Dream," I manage to get out, my eye
slipping closed again. "Go back to sleep."

He shoves me again. "Scully, get *up.*"

I groan and flip over onto my back. I glare at him for a good, full
minute before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and stomping
over into his room. I stop in my tracks, turning to stare incredulously
at him. "Mulder, how the hell did a cow into your room?"

He points. "It came through the roof!"

I peek out through his blinds. "But, Mulder - how?"

Mulder's gesticulating wildly. "It was in the little pen outside, and
then all of a sudden --" He throws his hands up. I can't help but stare
at the poor cow.

"Is it dead?"

He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. "I was almost
*killed* by this damn thing, and you're worried about the *cow*?"

I refrain from rolling my eyes. "I'm sorry. Are you okay, Mulder?"

"I'll live. Probably," he adds, muttering. I touch his arm.

"Sweetie, why don't you go over and lay down in my bed, and I'll go
over and tell the owner?" I prompt, gently guiding him back to my
room.

I make sure he flops down on the bed before I leave for the front
office. I rap three times on the door before its pulled wide open.
"What?" Dorothy, the owner, grunts.

"There was an - accident in my partner's room," I tell her quietly, not
wanting to disturb her husband.

"What kind of accident?" she asks nasally.

"A-a cow...flew through the roof," I explain unwillingly.

She snorts. "Pardon me?" I simply look back at her. She shrugs.
"Whatever. I'll take care of it in the morning. I'm sure you can put
your own boyfriend up in your room for the night," she says, and turns
to close the door.

"We're partners," I lie loudly as the door slams shut.

***

He told me to gather the animals, and I'll be damned if I'll let Sheila
and Holman make the same mistake we did. So I'm in the ladies'
room, feeling every inch out of my element, giving my advice to her.

"You know, one day you look at a person and you see more than you
did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked or
something....And suddenly, the person who was just a friend is -
suddenly the only person you could ever imagine yourself with."

I know I'm going to get Mulder's 'Scully absolutely nothing happened
between Sheila and I' speech after the reunion's over. Except that I'm
not jealous, and my husband's ego's about to be deflated when he
hears that not everything in high heels piques my possessiveness. Just
ones named Diana.

I almost blew this. Sheila was curious as to whether or not Mulder and
I had ever kissed. And for a split second, I entertained the idea of a
little female bonding over a shared interest. I hesitated momentarily
before shaking my head to answer her question.

Although if I take only one thing away from this trip, it will have to be
the sound of my sweet but unknowledgable Mulder explaining that
Holman needed him for dating advice.

At the sight of the sinks overflowing, we rush out of the bathroom into
the darkness. I make my way towards Mulder, and as the lights slowly
flicker back on moments later, I make out the two distinct forms of
Sheila Fontaine and Holman Hardt locked in a deep embrace across
the floor. They saunter over to us, and Mulder gives Holman a
knowing look.

"So, how did it go?"

Holman smiles smugly, his eyes settling momentarily on me. "You
should try it sometime," he says, returning my partner's look, and they
leave us in a bit of stunned silence.

After a beat, Mulder turns to me with a mischievous look in his eye.
"Ever been to your reunion?"

"Ever been to yours?" I counter.

He shrugs, smiling a little. "Well, since we've both skipped out on
ours, shouldn't we make the most of theirs?"

"I'm not helping you spike the punch."

He laughs, taking my hand in one of his and toying with my fingers.
"Will you dance with me, Red?"

I pretend to think it over. "I don't know," I reply slowly. "I'm married,
you see, and I'm not sure my husband would approve."

I hadn't noticed that I'd already slipped into his arms and we'd begun
swaying softly to the music. He bends, and I rest the side of my head
against his as we move.

"Oh, I think he approves," he murmurs into my hair. I swallow a little
chuckle.

"So what about yours?"

"Oh, my husband wouldn't mind, we have a very open marriage," he
deadpans, without missing a beat. I slap him gently. "Well, as long as
you don't get any ideas, woman."

"Oh? You have someone waiting for you at home, too?"

"No," he says, suddenly serious. "No more waiting." I press a quick
kiss on the side of face, reassuring him that I'm still with him, and his
arms tighten a little around me.

All around us, the soft strains of Judy Garland seem to float on air, and
its with some amusement that I see most of the other couples dancing
the same way.

I never thought I'd say this, but you know what - the song is right.

Dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.

Ours did.


the end.

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