SUMMARY: Mulder/Scully bubblefic for Em Meredith's birthday bubblebook. Spoilers through the bitter end.

They'd been zigzagging the southwest for nearly a month, biding their time by blending into rural America until they could figure out a way to cross the border. Because Mulder insisted on choosing their hotels, Scully was currently sitting cross-legged on the bed in the small, drab Twilite Motel. To say that the Twilite Motel in Carrazozo, New Mexico, left much to be desired was to vastly understate the obvious, but Scully was used to it. She didn't mind the rock-hard mattress, and the stale odor of cigarettes didn't faze her.

Her only issue with the Twilite was the dingy bathroom. Oh, how she missed being able to take a relaxing bath. Considering their status as hunted fugitives, a bubblebath alone certainly wouldn't do much for her permanently elevated stress level, but it might give her a half-hour oasis of peace.

Every night when they checked into a new motel, Scully told herself to just take a long, hot shower and forget about bathing. She'd even tossed her bottle of bubblebath (along with her hot curlers, her trench coat, and her favorite sensible pearl earrings) into a dumpster behind a Chik-Fil-A somewhere in Arizona.

Rummaging through her small bag, Scully dug out her hand mirror and examined her roots, frowning a little at the bright red starting to show beneath the chestnut rinse. She should've told Mulder to pick up some more hair color, though she wasn't entirely sure he'd come back with brown dye instead of bleach, considering his reaction when she'd originally chosen the subdued color. Blondes have more fun, Scully, he'd pointed out with a sly smile. Scully had merely rolled her eyes and pointed out the blondes also receive more attention from lascivious men, and they certainly couldn't afford to draw anyone's attention.

"Dammit," she murmured, tossing the hand mirror onto the mattress and lying back, drained, letting her eyes drift shut. Her entire body ached with tension and fatigue. She'd already dozed off when Mulder stumbled in, plastic bags crinkling. Startled, Scully sat up, blinking at this strange version of her partner wearing khaki shorts. She had yet to get used to his beard, never mind his suburban-dad-on-vacation wardrobe. She wondered, sometimes, if it was the same for him, glancing over at a brunette in running shorts and small, fitted t-shirts.

Mulder paused in the doorway, taking her in. "Were you sleeping?"

"No," she answered, a bit drowsy. She reached up and ran a self-conscious hand through her hair.

He didn't believe her, but he simply nodded and moved towards the rickety table in the corner. After trying unsuccessfully to turn on the overhead light, Mulder shrugged and unpacked the bag, placing two apples, some sunflower seeds, two ready-made meals, a packet of sponges, a trial-sized bottle of Scrub-a-Dub cleaner, and a small purple bottle of bubblebath on the table. Leaving the food on the table, he handed the bubblebath to Scully, and headed into the bathroom with the sponge and the cleaner.

After a moment of stunned silence, Scully rose and crossed to the dented bathroom door. Mulder was on his knees on the tiled floor, sleeves rolled up as he leaned into the tub to scour it clean.

"Mulder," she said, overwhelmed, "you don't need--"

"Simple pleasures, Scully," he interrupted, glancing over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Sorry I couldn't afford a day at the spa."

Despite their circumstances, Scully found herself laughing. "A day spa in Carrizozo, New Mexico?" she murmured. "I shudder to think what that spa package would include."

Mulder huffed a laugh. "Snakeskin massage?"

Scully groaned, recalling with distaste the mounted deer heads and snakeskin displayed prominently in the small diner they'd stopped in for lunch. She'd eaten at her share of questionable restaurants over her years with Mulder, but today was the first time she'd chosen a meal without meat, just based on the décor. She certainly didn't want to end up eating Bambi or, worse, snake meat.

Mulder shifted, stretching one long arm out to the taps, letting some water run into the porcelain tub.

"Mulder, your knees," Scully admonished, moving into the cramped bathroom to grab a towel from the rack. Crouching at his side, she dropped a hand to his thigh and squeezed. Mulder obliged, setting the sponge down and using the lip of the tub as leverage as he rocked back onto the balls of his feet. Scully folded the towel and placed it on the floor, taking care not to look too closely at the grimy tile.

Mulder shifted back to his knees, shooting her a crooked grin. "Thanks." He looked tired and scruffy and haunted, and Scully wished there were something she could do for him, something more than providing a towel for his knees, but things between them were a bit... strange. He'd been gone a long time, and now they were fugitives from the law and from the shadow government. Most days, their situation loomed too large for them to be able to discuss anything bigger than where to stop for lunch.

Scully placed a hand on his shoulder as she rose to her feet, pausing to press a kiss to his temple. "Thank you," she murmured, lingering beside him to inhale his familiar scent.

Mulder shrugged off her thanks and turned his attention back to scrubbing the tub. "Why don't you check next door -- I think they had a rack of paperbacks in the convenience store."

Scully considered it only briefly. "No, that's okay. I just want to soak." She wondered how many longing looks she'd cast at the succession of grimy bathtubs before Mulder had decided to do this for her. She wondered if she would ever find a way to thank him properly.
Reaching back with his free hand, Mulder playfully nudged her toward the door. "I'll be done in a few minutes."

***

Ensconced happily in warm water and frothy bubbles, Scully lay her head back and let her eyes drift shut. Outside the shelter of her dingy makeshift spa, Scully heard the TV clamor to life, then a muttered curse as Mulder turned down the volume. SportsCenter, she realized, smiling to herself at his predictability. They may be on the run from a global shadow government and a vengeful FBI, but by God Mulder would find out how the Knicks were doing. (Poorly, as it turned out.)

The sports chatter receded, and Scully let her mind drift, enjoying the warmth easing its way into her muscles.

Oh, how she'd missed this. How she missed her beautiful bathroom in Annapolis -- that gorgeous, freestanding tub especially. She wondered idly whether her mother had cleaned the place out herself, or paid someone else to take care of it. Scully had sent her mother a fake advertisement via email from an internet café in Tucson, using prearranged text to let her mother know that she was okay, but deep underground. Probably for good.

The idea pained her still, even though she'd accepted it in her brutally logical way. She knew they couldn't go back. She knew that contacting her family might put them in danger. She accepted it. She did.

But she missed her mother. She missed her brothers. She missed her son so fiercely that she couldn't think about him. Whenever his beautiful face drifted into her vision, her mind skittered away, afraid to look directly into the sunburst of pain.

A soft knock at the door.

Without bothering to open her eyes, Scully said, "C'mon in, Mulder."

The door squealed its way open. "Everything good?"

"Very good," she answered quietly, still feeling that horrible, hollow ache. She knew Mulder felt guilty for drawing her into this mess -- he always took far too much responsibility for her choices -- so she tried her best to shield him from her pain.

She wasn't sure she succeeded in this particular instance, because there was a long pause before he answered, "Good, then."

Scully couldn't speak until she heard him start to retreat. "Mulder, wait." Shifting, she opened her eyes and pinned him in place with her gaze. "Come sit with me."

He looked uncertain, watching her with a small frown, but after a moment, he nodded and moved into the bathroom.

"Close the door," she requested. "Keeps the warmth in here."

Mulder kicked the door closed behind him with a rakish grin, then moved closer, raising his eyebrows. "Tub looks a little small for two."

Scully cast a skeptical gaze in the direction of his incredibly long legs. "I'll say." She gestured toward the towel rack. "Sit with me."

Aside from his dogged insistence on choosing their motel accommodations, Mulder had been surprisingly obedient during their month underground. Tonight was no exception. He grabbed a towel and folded it carefully into a square, placing it beside the tub down near her feet. With a muffled groan and a loud crack of his bad knee, Mulder lowered himself to the floor and leaned his back against the tub, stretching one arm along the lip.

Lifting her hand out of the water, Scully laid her arm on the edge of the tub, resting her damp fingers on top of his. They were silent for several long minutes, until Mulder began tapping his free hand against his thigh.

Scully frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered immediately. He glanced over at her, then grimaced. "I feel like we're about to have one of those talks."

"One of those talks?"

"Yeah. One of those talks."

Flummoxed, Scully shook her head, just a bit. "We've never had one of those talks." In some ways, things had changed between them suddenly and irrevocably as they came together in a burst of passion; in other ways, they'd been inching closer to the inevitable for so many years, that neither one of them had felt compelled to have a "What are we doing now?" conversation as they lay entwined in Scully's bed in the pleasant aftermath of combustion.

Mulder's lips quirked. "Exactly."

"So why do you think we're about to have one now?"

"I don't know," Mulder admitted, sounding uncertain.

"We don't need to talk about our relationship, Mulder," Scully assured him, amused by his odd nervousness. "Unless you have something you feel you need to say."

He shook his head.

Scully squeezed his fingers. "Okay, then." She let her eyes drift shut again, floating on the warmth of the water and the warmth of his presence.

"I'm sorry," Mulder said, his voice barely audible.

Surprised, Scully opened her eyes and stared at him. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he said, chancing a glance in her direction. His expression was determinedly blank.

Still, Scully caught a glimpse of worry in those hazel eyes and sat up a little straighter in the tub. "Mulder?"

"I'm glad you got me out," he began, the words tumbling faster now even as he kept his face averted. "I really didn't want to die. But I'm sorry you had to leave everyone you loved behind."

Threading her fingers through his to make sure he couldn't pull away, Scully answered, "Not everyone I love."

Mulder bowed his head, leaving her to study his profile. "I'm sorry about William," he whispered, his voice rough as gravel.

Scully couldn't speak around the tightness in her throat. They'd never talked about their son, not really. Nothing except her useless apology and his meaningless absolution in that horrible prison. She could apologize forever, and it wouldn't make giving William away any more tolerable.

"I don't know what to do about him, Scully."

She shook her head, squeezing his fingers so tightly she knew it must have been painful for him. His words were like shards of glass, but she hurt for her son every moment of every day anyway. She'd wondered if it was the same for Mulder, who'd had so little time with William.

Mulder gave her the briefest of glances. "He's nearly a year old. He's been with--" He stopped, swallowed hard-- "those people for months. I want him desperately, but I don't know if that's fair to him."

When he looked over at her, she nodded, blinking watery eyes to try to keep him in focus. His free hand lifted, indicating their surroundings. "I mean, look at where we are," he continued. "I feel badly enough that I dragged you into this life. I'm not sure I could bear to take my--" He choked a little over the words-- "my son into hiding in some backwards part of India."

She held his hand so tightly now that she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to let him go, and his fingers dug into her hand, too, as he continued, "I think we could protect him, Scully, but the kind of life he would have..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't know, Scully," he admitted, sounding lost. "I don't think it's fair to William."

Mulder was articulating everything she couldn't bring herself to say about William. She yearned to hold her son in her arms, to watch him grow, to soothe him when he woke from nightmares, to see Mulder teach him how to dribble a basketball -- she wanted these things so much that it physically hurt to think about them.

"It's not," she managed, her voice thick with tears. Maybe hearing her own desires echoed by Mulder allowed her to be strong enough to admit, at last, that what they wanted was exactly the opposite of what was best for their son. Mulder looked over at her, but didn't speak, waiting for her to continue. "He's safe there," she said, a little stronger now. "Much safer than he would ever be with us."

Mulder turned toward her, his expression sorrowful. "But I want him. I want him back, Scully. I don't even know my own son."

Scully's eyes closed against the tears, but they leaked out anyway. She lifted her free hand from the water, swiping at her cheeks, struggling for control.

"Oh, Scully," he murmured, pressing kisses to the hand he still held clutched in his. She shook her head wordlessly as he moved closer, kissing her forearm, her elbow, her bicep. "Scully," he whispered in her ear, his breath making her shiver. Blindly, she turned her head toward him, kissing him with a fierce desperation. He reciprocated in kind, his hand snaking through her hair to hold her close.

"Mulder," she groaned into his mouth, needing him desperately, needing that sweet oblivion. "Please."

He reached down, plunging his hands into the water, heedless of his shirt. Pulling her upright in the tub, Mulder wrapped his arms hard around her torso and yanked her flush against him. His jeans scratched against her belly, and his shirt grew damp and stuck to his flesh. Their kiss went on and on and on, even as he lifted her from the tub and stumbled toward the doorway.

Their sorrow fueled their passion, and they tumbled into bed consumed with a desperate need to feel better, to feel love, to feel life. Scully peeled his damp clothes from him as Mulder licked the moisture from her skin. They touched and murmured and caressed, until he entered her with a reverent moan, his eyes wide and dark in the dim motel room.

They made love with ferocity and sorrow and adoration, eventually coming to rest side by side on the bed, breathing heavily through the remnants of tears. Mulder reached down and grasped her hand. "I am sorry," he repeated.

"It's not your fault," Scully told him, turning into him. She slung her thigh across his, slid her palm along his abdomen until he shivered. "You didn't put William in danger, Spender did."

Mulder didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue, either. She decided to consider that progress.

Scully leaned up and kissed him, hard. She retreated only a little, gazing down into his hazel eyes. "It hurts to leave William," she said, her voice rough, but much firmer than before. "It hurts so much. I don't think that hurt will ever go away. But we're doing what's best for him."

Nodding, Mulder closed his eyes tight and admitted, "I know." His arm tightened around her, and he turned his face into hers, leaving his eyes tightly closed when he whispered, "I want to see him, Scully."

"I know."

His voice was rough when he asked, "Scully?"

"We can't go to Wyoming," she told him, even though she fought the same urge every single day. She wasn't sure she could see William again without her longing overcoming her good sense. "We can't stay in the U.S."

He lifted his head, his reddened eyes meeting hers. "I know."

They lay there in silence for several long minutes, bringing themselves back under control. Mulder's thumb caressed the small of her back, and she pressed kisses into the skin of his chest, eventually placing her hand along his rib cage and resting her chin atop her hand.

"We could go to Canada," she suggested, determined to discuss their future instead of the painful shards of their past. "Less culture shock."

Mulder very nearly grinned. "Or we could go to Mexico and you could wear bikinis all day every day."

Scully still felt fragile, she still felt that immeasurable sorrow, but somehow by sharing it with Mulder, she felt... a little bit better. "And you could wear a Speedo all day every day?" she asked wryly.

"Maybe," he answered. "We could get jobs at a beach resort, and then you could take bubblebaths whenever you wanted."

"Are you the gardener in this scenario, Mulder?" Scully asked, smiling openly now.

"No, the lifeguard," he answered, perfectly dry.

Scully rolled her eyes. "Terrifying thought."

"Hey," Mulder protested, his tone defensive. "I was a lifeguard every summer before I left for Oxford."

Scully's amusement faded a bit in the face of reality. "We'll need new identities."

Mulder nodded, his expression oddly shuttered again. "There's a bank in Mexico City," he told her. "I left some money there, and a few identities. Just in case."

A little bit stunned, Scully stared at him. "You left..." She shook her head, putting the pieces together. "When was this?"

"A while ago," he answered vaguely, his hands drifting up and down her spine in an obvious attempt to distract her.

But Scully could recognize his diversionary tactics. Pushing herself up on one elbow, she reached up to cup his chin in one hand. "How long ago?"

Mulder looked uncomfortable, but he answered anyway. "When it first became apparent that your chip might leave you vulnerable."

Scully let his words settle for a moment, trying to pinpoint exactly what he meant. "Ruskin Dam?" she breathed, remembering the sickening daze, the unrelenting pull, the horrified look on his face when she'd awoken in yet another hospital with Mulder by her side. "That long ago?"

Mulder met her bewildered gaze straight on. "Yes."

She leaned in and kissed him softly, thankfully. "I'm so glad you came back to me, Mulder." They rarely made such open declarations to each other, but Scully needed him to understand that she missed her family, she yearned for her son, yet she could never regret Mulder being a part of her life.

He rested his forehead against hers. "I'm glad you never left me," he answered quietly.

Scully still felt too raw, too sorrowful to wade much deeper into the emotional undertow, so she pressed a kiss against his beard and settled in against him. "So," she said, willing her voice to be strong, to be steady, "Mexico City, huh?"

"It's kind of like Los Angeles, only smoggier."

"Sounds delightful," Scully answered with a chuckle.

"We can go anywhere you want, Scully," Mulder told her, looping his arms around her back to bring her closer. "You choose."

"I get to choose?" she echoed, surprised, settling once more against him.

"Yup."

She pondered, letting her fingers wander his chest. "Can we figure it out tomorrow, Mulder?" she murmured, reaching down to pull the sheet over their entwined bodies. "I'm tired."

"Go to sleep, Scully," Mulder answered. "We'll figure it out tomorrow."

THE END