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.




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