Date: 25 Jul 2002 06:42:13 GMT

Keywords: Krycek/Mulder, AU. Diverts from canon timeline
after Requiem. No Dead!Mulder.
Rating: R for adult theme of a same-sex relationship.
Not Sallie-Safe, but mucho hugs to her for helping me anyway!
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine. And this Mulder belongs to Alex.
Thank you to: Sallie, Logan, and ga for kind assistance and
capable beta. To Marlen and Peggy, thanks for giving it a look-
over.
Archive: Logan's Second Grace site, IWTB, Ephemeral, Gossamer,
Spooky's. OK if you have archived my work before. I'd
appreciate a note.
Happy Birthday, Logan, thanks for everything.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Author's notes: At the end.

SPOILERS: Assorted up through S8, and MAJOR SPOILERS for
Second Grace Books 2 and 3, by Logan. This exact scene
does not take place in his story. However, it DOES contain
SPOILERS for major plot points. Consider this an AU scene for
SG and is posted with Logan's permission.
Second Grace stories can found at: www.hegalplace.com

Short Intro: In the Second Grace Universe, Mulder and Krycek
are together. Sean is the son of Mulder and Scully, who was the
result of, and a victim of, Consortium experiments. That should
be enough information to allow you to follow this story. I hope
you enjoy it.


"Second Grace: Moonlight and Memory"
By Shelba

I have been given/one moment from heaven
as I am walking/surrounded by night,
Stars high above me/ make a wish under moonlight.
by Roma Ryan

Baton Rouge
July 2003

Spring in Baton Rouge is such a gaudy time. Azaleas and
rhododendrons in every size and color imaginable grow wild.
They carpet the ground in wooded areas, along roadsides, and
snuggle up to the foundations of houses. Overhead, trees flower
in a riot of color and size. Under white dogwoods and pink-and-
white cherry and apple trees, Japanese maples add a splash of
blood red. And then, of course, there are the magnolias. The
pink-and-white flowers spread their huge petals in a canopy of
fragrant boughs. I've always thought these things were pretty,
even though they are damned messy plants. Their huge pods are a
pain in the ass. But a magnolia in full bloom is a decadently
beautiful tree. You almost forget what a nuisance they can be.

Kind of like Fox, now that I think about it. Damn. I miss him.

It has been pretty dry here lately. I wander around the glade
and notice summer's deep greens have begun to fade to golden
green and yellow and many of the flowers have faded in the
heat. Just about the only things left blooming in my glade are
the magnolias.

Frogs croak plaintively as dusk approaches, and crickets'
creaking songs vibrate on the air and welcome the night. The
stone bench I rest upon is warm from the afternoon sun, and the
heat caresses my back and legs. For a long time, I sit and
listen. I know that I should be getting back to the Bayou, but
someone else can tend bar for a while.

I needed some time tonight. It has been exactly three years
since I moved back here, in an attempt to build a new life.

Spring had always been my favorite time of the year. No matter
where I was, I would think of spring in Baton Rouge. When
Marita came to pull me out of that prison in Tunisia I was so
tired, of the lies and the pain and the deceit. During the
nights of heat and flies, and the days of scalding sun and the
sadism of the keepers, all I wished for was to get out of
there, to come home to see another spring in Baton Rouge.

When CGB Spender gave me the mission to get Mulder to lead us
to that downed ship in Oregon, I was so tired. How much longer
would CGB get off on watching us play this continuous Rat and
Fox game? Maybe CGB could find some other errand boy to pull
the FBI's chain. After all, Marita seemed interested in the
job. All I wanted and wished for was to get the mission in
Oregon over with, to leave the machinations of the Consortium
behind. That was all I wanted. Just to come home.

That was the year that spring changed for me. Why did I think
I could escape years of deceit and pain unscathed? What is it
they say? Be careful what you wish for?

Well, I got what I wished for. The mission was over. It was
still spring. I was free to come home. But my freedom came at a
terrible price, for Mulder had disappeared into a beam of light
in the wilds of the Northwest.

Summer passed, then fall came; and as winter approached,
another dream was fulfilled. My fondest wish was granted.
Impossibly, miraculously, Mulder came home.

Like everyone else, except maybe Scully, I had believed him
dead. Then he was back, he was with me and I thought maybe
everything would work out for me. For us. I was finally getting
it through my thick skull that there might actually *be* an
*us*.

Overhead, a few stars gleam through the canopy of branches. I
walk to the center of the glade, where white moonlight glows
the brightest and memory floods my mind and heart.

Time slips away, and I am back in that moonlit glade on a
spring night: two years, three months, two weeks, and one day
ago....



Baton Rouge
April 2001

A strong wind blew through here last night. It shook thousands
of flowers from the bushes and trees; the ground is covered
with blossoms. I know they are pale pink, but in the moonlight
they shine like opals. Sean stands, unsteady on colt-like legs
beside an oak tree. I overheard him earlier asking his dad, in
his halting, serious speech, if he was "big enough" to come
tonight.

Mulder cuddled him close and assured him he was "plenty big,"
and that he would be honored for him to come, but that this was
up to Mom. He told him, if she said "no," then Sean must listen
and understand that she would know what was best.

I know Fox fears failing his child. I am not surprised, and am
proud of what a good dad and teacher he has been. I hope he
realizes what a remarkable job he is doing with Sean. He has
been patient and gentle with the boy, and his speech and
physical development have progressed a lot. Fox said it is kind
of ironic that he is finally getting some use out of that psych
doctorate that won't make him crazy. "At least," he confided,
"until Sean hits puberty, anyway."

Scully hasn't had a lot of time with Sean, and it has been hard
on her. Sometimes, late at night, when she thinks no one knows,
Scully cries over how grown-up he seems.

I was a little surprised that Scully brought him tonight, but
when I saw how Fox glowed when he saw them, I knew I should not
have been. Seems Scully can't refuse much to either Sean or
Mulder.

She nods to me and steps over. When she takes Fox's hands in
hers, I can see them trembling a little; and he tries to soothe
her, gently stroking her white knuckles with his thumbs. She
may be trembling, but her shoulders are square and her posture
parade-ground straight. She takes a deep breath, as though
trying to say something to him. Finally, she shakes her head
and gives up trying to speak, and she pulls him close to kiss
him. His eyes gleam with tears, and as she strokes his face, he
leans into her hand. She whispers, "Mulder...this..." then
simply holds him close and whispers, "Be happy."

He tucks her under his chin to rock her gently for a few
moments. If ever I doubted it before, I can see how much they
love one another, and how much having her blessing means to
him. He pulls back from her for a moment and they just look
into each other's eyes. Then he leans over and kisses her
softly. His voice is just a breath of air, "Thank you. God,
Scully. This means...just...thank you."

After she steps out of the circle of his arms, I can see her
blinking some tears away. She gently strokes Sean's cheek and,
like his father's had, his lashes flutter at the touch of her
hand. He looks so much like his father -- a miniature Mulder,
right down to the smile in his soulful eyes and the habit of
chewing his bottom lip. She smiles at Sean and brushes a lock
of hair away from his forehead. "I'll see you back at the
house, ok?"

"Alex." When she turns to address me, her expression is calm,
her voice steady. She steps closer, and when my eyes meet
hers, the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling there hits me in
the gut. I wonder how the hell is Fox still standing, if *I*
can feel the onslaught of Dana Scully's emotions?

It's all I can do to keep from dropping where I stand. My heart
is tap-dancing on my ribs and the air is awfully thick. This is
all almost too much, but I am determined to hear whatever she
has to say. I can just imagine that she is thinking a lot of
things, but then she says, "He loves you. Value that. If you
do, he can make you happy." I nod numbly. She holds me with a
long, steady look that conveys, better than words, 'Hurt him --
you will deal with me.'

Fox is looking at her a bit oddly and somewhat expectantly.
From his expression, I am guessing that he thinks she has
something else to say. I suppose she must be satisfied that her
message has been received, since she says nothing else and
doesn't look at him again.

As she moves across the carpet of leaves and petals, her
footfalls are nearly silent, then the sound of her steps fades
to nothing. I can see that one of the trees that rings the
glade seems to have a darker shadow than the others.

She is still there. I smile to myself. Even here and now, she
is making sure she can watch Mulder's back. I find myself
wondering if he knows she didn't go far, then mentally smack
myself. Of course he knows. Even before his telepathy began to
reappear, the two of them had an uncanny ability to keep track
of the other's whereabouts. Even I don't have that with him.
I'd be jealous, but I know they both owe their lives to that
gift.

For a moment, I wish that Corinne were here. I try to tell
myself it is because if she were, Scully would not be standing
there alone. I realize that I am just kidding myself. Scully's
comfort level is not my real concern. I just want my sister
here, to support me with her bright, warm strength. Then I
think about how that makes me seem, and how Mulder must feel --
that Scully is being excluded. As my mouth opens, to tell him
to call her to join us, he shakes his head. He knows she is
there.

I feel a twinge of guilt. She has been bound to Mulder, life
and soul, for a long time. He knows her, though, better than
anyone does. Maybe she *needs* the privacy to give her the
strength to see this for herself. I wonder how hard it is for
his partner and soulmate to step back and let him have this. To
have me. Maybe she wants to show Mulder that she won't intrude
on our personal relationship, and she is assuring him that
their bond is still there, supporting him as he flies free. If
she wants to see him give himself to someone else, I won't stop
her.

I'd like to think that Scully is happy for both of us. She
knows he is more important to me, than any other thing in my
life, and if she really felt this was a mistake, she would not
be standing back watching it happen. I wonder if his allowing
her to do this from a distance is his way of telling me I come
first. The smile on Fox's face, and the calm look on Sean's,
make me hope I am right.

I look up into his hooded hazel eyes, and his face is calm and
pale above his dark shirt. The faint lines and creases at the
corners have deepened with age and pain. Even here in this
leaf-dappled light, I can see the little crescent-moon scars
on his cheeks. There is almost more salt than pepper in his
hair, and the gray strands shine like quicksilver caught in
moonlight. His eyes are fastened on mine, and he is standing
there smiling at me.

I think that he is the most beautiful creature ever to grace my
life.

I am suddenly, humbly grateful that he insisted that we have
this private time with one another before he takes his son and
leaves this place. Leaves me.

I don't know what to expect. He said he had some things he
wanted to say. Then he amended that, said he *needed* to say
some things to me, and that he knew that I couldn't voice them.

Even then, as he told me he was ready to pledge his life to me
forever, he asked nothing for himself. I want to weep with
gratitude, and love, and joy, and feel a surge of grief that
he might think I don't want him.

But I can't say the words he wants to hear. I just can't. I
agreed to let him do this. He was disappointed when I told him
that this night has to be about what he needs, but how can I be
bound to him? I've yet to make peace with myself. It is said
that a person who can't love himself can't truly love someone
else. I wonder if I will ever *really* be able to love. But
then, I think of the way I feel about him. My feelings for him
are so strong and so real, I think I could hold them in my hand
and feel the shape of them. And I wonder: what is this I feel,
then?

My eyes slipped closed at some point. I feel dizzy, but warm
hands on my shoulders ground me. I look up into Fox's smiling
face and I feel calmer.

He knows. He knows how I feel about him, how nothing in my life
is as important as he is. I am absurdly grateful that the
return of his telepathic gift lets me off the hook. When this
thing first manifested, I was terrified that he would look
inside me and see something foul, and that I would lose him
forever. I feel a surge of guilt that even now, on what may
very well be our last day together, I still can't say what I
feel. Damn. I am such a rotten coward.

He laughs, and cups my cheek in his hand. "Doyshenka, you may
be a rotten coward, but you are my rotten coward."

Before I can respond, Fox holds out his hand to Sean. He steps
away from the oak and solemnly places some cords in his
father's hand. Fox ruffles his hair and the boy smiles, and
scuffs a foot on the ground, before settling back against the
broad oak tree. Their communication has always been effortless,
and now they are so in tune it is eerie.

Goosebumps prickle on every inch of my body. Fox's warm
fingertips are gently stroking the skin of my wrist, which I
find has somehow become pressed against his forearm.

His voice is warm honey on the night air and I find my
breathing slowing, from short, ragged breaths until it matches
his deeper rhythm. His eyes seek to hold mine, and I feel a
tremor run from his arm to mine as he begins to speak. "You
will feel no rain, for I will be shelter to you. Someday, when
your time is right, you will believe that I find shelter in
you, as well."

Oh, Fox, I want to believe. He gently squeezes my hand, then
lays a cord over my arm. I am torn. I can't decide whether to
look into his eyes or down at his strong elegant fingers as
they wrap the hemp cord around our joined wrists.

"You will feel no cold, for even though I am far away, you will
feel my warmth -- in every flame, every beam of light."

I am caught by the power of his voice and eyes. I can feel that
he has made another pass around our arms, but his eyes are
holding me, as surely as if he is the world, and I am but a
satellite in his orbit.

"Even though we are apart, you will have no more loneliness. I
will come to you in dreams, my soul will walk free, and you
will feel my kiss in every whisper of the night wind."

My nerves thrum. His eyes meet mine, black with some
indefinable mixture of emotion and promise. They are soaking up
the light and sending it back to me, and I wonder if he is
speaking metaphorically....

"...Moy Du-sha, and soon again in life." I was so absorbed by
the implications of what he might be saying that I am shocked
back to the present by the endearment. Oh, Fox, don't you know?
You are my soul, too.

The universe has shrunk down to this flower-carpeted glade,
this time, this man, these feelings. I look down. I see that he
is nearly done with another pass around our wrists. For the
first time, I really look at the cords, and notice they are not
alike. The first three passes of cord were made with rough
twine. The cord that he is using now is thin, slick leather. I
look up at him, wondering why.

He smiles, and I watch as his free hand rubs the coarse twine
against the thin skin of my wrist. "The twine is for the first
two years we were together, because it is strong but not very
pleasant."

I close my eyes and remember. Need. Lust. Nights of hot,
angry sex. On several occasions, the excitement was in not
knowing whether either or both of us would survive till
morning. We never -- well, hardly ever -- inflicted damage
for the hell of it, but we were raw, rough; and most of what
was between us was about needful pain.

Then, softly, so softly, he begins stroking my hand with one
end of the leather cord. "Leather is for the next three years.
We didn't know it, and would have denied it, but we had become
bound to each other with something strong, and flexible enough
that it didn't snap during those hard years."

He held up the last cord. I had not even noticed it. The thin
cord looks like raw silk. "This cord is like you, and how I
feel about you. Both things are smooth, strong, and as
beautiful as anything I have ever seen."

Mulder thinks I am beautiful?

He takes the soft cord and lays it over our joined arms. "We
are two bodies, but the only life before me is the one I see
with you. I promise: when I go, I will take you with me, for
without you, I have no heart of my own."

His hand takes the silk and slowly, he begins to wrap it. I
watch until the image blurs and my throat gets so full, I would
be incapable of speech, even if I knew what to say to him.
Nothing can match the feelings he has expressed. Nothing can
express what I feel. God. How can he do this? He turns me
inside out with his voice.

"Tonight, is the last night we will have for a while. In the
morning, I have to go. Remember, my soul is here with you, and
my need to be back with you will bring me home."

He makes one last pass with the cords. I am mesmerized by the
ends dangling there. He cups my face in his free hand and his
thumb is rough against my lips.

"I promise you Alex, our time together is yet to come, but it
will come; it will soon come." His voice took on a slight sing-
song cadence, and I knew he was quoting something. "And our
days together shall be good and long upon the earth, and this
union, death shall not end."

I pull him to me. My heart is pounding against the bones of my
chest -- trying to reach his, I suppose. He pulls my face to
his and kisses me deeply, needy and full of promise.

Fox's eyes shine like his namesake's in the moonlight. I feel
myself being drawn into his smoky emerald gaze. His words ring
with the weight of truth.

"Even death cannot keep me from you."


Baton Rouge
Present day

My mind is twirling. The ache from his absence has been my
constant companion. When I came here tonight, for the first
time since Fox left, I feared my memories. But here, in the
moonlight, they are as strong as silk and gentle as the
summer wind.

You will come home, moy du-sha. I believe.

Fin~~~~~~

End notes:
From Logan:
This story was a gift from Shelba for my 30th birthday. It
was working on Second Grace that brought Shelba and I
together, and if I got nothing else from writing it, that
friendship made it all worth it. I can't thank Shelba enough
for her faith in me, her support, and for suspending her
disbelief long enough to give Fox and Alex a chance.

::sniff:: Awwww. Happy Birthday, Logan.
Thanks for letting me play in your Second Grace universe. I
would never have believed that anyone could make me believe
in Mulder, happy and loving someone other than his Scully.
Thanks for introducing me to this rich universe and the
powerful emotional pairing you've created.

Song Excerpt, "On My Way Home," lyrics composed by Roma Ryan.
Doyshenka means "sweetheart".
Moy du-sha is the male form of "my soul".

Mulder was inspired by the following words of a Native American
ceremony. Eloquent devil, isn't he?

Now you will feel no rain,
for each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
for each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now you will feel no loneliness,
for now there is no loneliness.
Now you are two bodies,
but there is only one life before you.
Go now to your dwelling place,
to enter into the days of your togetherness.
And may your days be good and long upon the earth.

Please note: This story was written for Logan as a gift,
*before* SG3 was completed, and has been awaiting
Logan's blessing to set if free.
Blessing given. Story free. Enjoy.