Title:  Refuse Letting Go
Author:  Lynn Saunders
Distribution:  Knock yourself out, but let me know so I can 
check on you.
Rating: PG-13
Classification:  MSR
Spoilers:  seasons seven, eight and nine
Summary:  a love story, continued (a companion piece 
for "Worth Remembering")
Date Completed:  08-12-03
A Dedication:
This story is for Sallie, who hasn't been feeling well 
lately. You're in my prayers, sweetie. Thanks for all of 
the kind words you've sent my way. I luv ya, girl. This 
one's for you!
A huge "Thanks!" goes out to Carol for fantabulous beta.
You rock!
This story is a companion piece for "Worth Remembering". 
You don't have to read one to understand the other, but 
they do belong together.
Feedback is fed plump, juicy grapes and fanned with palm 
frons at lynnsaundersfanfic@hotmail.com
Disclaimer:  The characters of Mulder and Scully are the 
property of Chris Carter and 1013.  A break from work is 
the only thing I am gaining from writing fan fiction.

Refuse Letting Go
by Lynn Saunders
* * * * * *
He doesn't knock at the door. He's not sure why. Usually, lately, he 
knocks, somewhat hesitantly. Tonight, using his key feels right, so 
he does. Juggling a steaming pizza box and a brightly wrapped gift, 
he manages to kick the door closed without dropping anything or 
making a ridiculous amount of noise.
Scully's apartment is dark save a desktop lamp, yet the room glows 
all the same. He's not sure if it's a trick of the light or an 
effect of the woman curled up on the sofa. She rests on her side, 
flaming hair scattered across the pillow under her cheek, one small 
hand spread flat against her swollen belly. 
He feels somewhat guilty for his intrusion in this private moment, 
but he has been away far too long already. His place is here. He 
should be snuggling with his family on the sofa, rather than 
standing just inside the door, staring. 
His family. The thought both warms and intrigues him.
As quietly as possible, he moves to the kitchen, depositing his 
offerings on the tabletop. Scully's breathing is deep and soft as he 
makes his way around the couch and kneels in front of her. Her 
cheeks are sleep-flushed, slightly chubbier than he remembers. 
His eyes stray to the mound of her stomach, to the hand that 
caresses their unborn child, even in sleep. She'd roll her eyes
at him if he told her how fascinating he finds her new curves. 
Gently, he reaches out to her, traces one auburn eyebrow before 
running his fingers through her tousled hair. He says her name 
softly.
"Mulder?" she murmurs, leaning into his touch. Crystal blue eyes 
blink at him sleepily. She smiles. "I was dreaming about you."
He chuckles. "Nothing bad, I hope."
"No, it was good." Her eyes sparkle, taking on the same 
mischievous twinkle he's seen so much of late. "Very good."
"Oh?" 
She quirks an eyebrow.
Oh.
Small fingers brush his cheek, and he sighs, closing his eyes as 
she wraps her arms around him. He snuggles into her embrace and 
returns the hug, careful not to squeeze too tightly. When he 
opens his eyes, she is looking at him, her lips inches from his. 
This feels right, he thinks. Maybe he says it, though. He can't 
remember. Suddenly, it doesn't matter because Scully is kissing 
him. Her lips are soft and warm, and it's been so long since 
he's felt her in his arms that he wants to cry, wants to never 
let go.
When they come up for air, she rests her forehead against his. 
The gesture is familiar, comforting, and the memories flood in. In 
his hallway, trying to convince her not to leave. In the same 
hallway, telling her what she meant to him. In her apartment, 
mourning her lost chance at motherhood. 
Never give up on a miracle.
Smiling, he kisses her rounded stomach. She is beautiful.
Eventually, he will talk her into having a slice of pizza. She 
will cuddle her new doll in her lap while she picks off all of 
the toppings and eats them first. 
Later, he will stand at the kitchen sink, rinsing their 
plates under the tap. She will rise from the sofa and move 
about her apartment, turning off lights and sliding the 
safety chain on the door. When she reaches the kitchen, 
she will touch his shoulder tentatively, running her 
fingers down his arm to clasp his hand. 
"Stay." 
He will.
Deep in the night, he will lie awake, caressing her bare back, 
savoring the way her sleep-pliant flesh molds to his, memorizing 
the peaceful expression she wears. As he drifts to sleep, he will 
hold onto every detail, refuse to let go. And it will be these 
moments he will cherish, months down the road when she cares for 
their son, but he can no longer be by her side.
* * * * * *