A Winter's Tale, Part 1
Dec. 22nd, 2007 09:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anjouficTitle: A Winter's Tale 1/21
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
comice aka Anjou (Anjou@rocketmail.com)
Posting Date: December 2007/January 2008
Rating: R for language and sexuality; M for Mature readers
Classification: Mulder/Scully, UST/MSR, AU
Archive: No archival until the story is completed, please. I'll be submitting to Ephemeral and Gossamer myself.
Spoilers: Through Two Fathers/One Son (S6), then AU. In other words, no Arcadia and beyond. Mytharc-y.
Disclaimer: All X-Files personnel belong to 1013 and Fox. All other elements are mine.
Author's Note: This was the first idea for an X-Files story that I ever had, and one that I believed had been lost forever, since the laptop the outline was on had been destroyed. However, early last summer I found a printed copy of what I'd written, misfiled with another story. The idea of the story began to work on my imagination, until I finally committed the time to writing it out. And so, here we are.
This is not a WIP. The last three sections are still being finalized, but it is complete. I'll be posting one part a day until it's completed. As I'm still figuring out where to put the section breaks, the 21 parts is an estimate. It may be more, but is not likely to be less.
Daily posts can be read on my fic journalanjoufic as well as Ephemeral and other XF fic sites. The whole tale will be archived at my website, No Other … (maintained by the generous dtg), when it is completed.
As always, thanks to my sister and editrix, Suzanne, for her support.
Summary: Cast your memory back to the dark days of Season 6, to the period immediately following the confrontation between Mulder and Scully in the Gunmen's Office. It is late winter, dark and cold, the landscape obscured and transformed by snow and ice. One must step carefully, for the very ground can be treacherous. This is a lesson Mulder and Scully have already learned when the pristine snow in Antartica yielded a long-buried secret. But the winter can hold many secrets, and could tell many tales, if it so chose. This is but one.
~*~
March 1999
It all started with a ditch.
Of course, that wasn't the whole story.
It had really started in the aftermath of that horrible day at the
Gunmen's. She'd been so sure that she was right about Diana Fowley, and been
angry for so long about the blind spot that Mulder seemed to have about
that untrustworthy woman.
Privately, she could grudgingly admit that she'd been jealous and
hurt for weeks and that was why she'd asked the Gunmen to investigate
for her. But even if she regretted how she'd gone about it, in the
quiet days after when conversation between them had dwindled to the
bare minimum, she couldn't regret that she had done it. Diana Fowley
was up to her neck in this conspiracy, was a friend and a colleague to
those people who had killed Melissa, and robbed Scully of both choice
and autonomy. She might not have had the proof that she had always
demanded of Mulder, but in this one case, Dana Scully knew with
absolute and sure certainty that Diana Fowley had collaborated with the
doctors who had experimented on her.
Truthfully, she believed that Diana had ordered her mutilation, an
intuition that she could never explain, much less prove, to Mulder.
It was a truly feminine thing, how one woman knew when another woman
hated her. Diana had tried to dismiss her, to diminish Special Agent Dana
Scully, M.D., at every possible opportunity. Diana treated her like
she didn't matter at all, like she was a gnat buzzing around, a disturbance
in the air. That dismissiveness, the cool dispassion that Diana maintained
at all costs around her, told Dana more than Diana had ever intended.
Diana Fowley hated her, and she wanted Dana to feel more than discomfited,
she wanted her to feel displaced, the way Diana must have felt when she
came back to the X-Files, intending to step right back into the shoes that
Dana now wore. Diana Fowley had been foolish enough to think that Dana Scully
could be ignored into disappearing, that losing her job with the X-Files
would mean the end of her partnership with Fox Mulder. But six years of
the X-Files had taught her what it meant to be ridiculed and scorned by peers,
superiors, the world at large, and even, on occasion, her own family.
She would not be so easily moved aside.
Besides, Diana Fowley's big feet wouldn't fit into her shoes, even
if she were inclined to step out of them, which she most certainly was
not.
Even now, after Diana Fowley had disappeared, leaving a trail of
mysteries behind her -- the charred bodies at the El Rico Air Force
Base; a deserted apartment at the Watergate; and the pool of Jeffrey
Spender's blood that she and Mulder had discovered when they'd
reclaimed their basement office –- she cast a dark shadow over their
funereally quiet office. The puzzling lack of Jeffrey Spender's body,
in concert with his astonishing declarations in Kersh's office,
compounded the macabre tone. It was as if the air between their two
desks was filled with the haunting presence of its previous
inhabitants, both mysteriously vanished without a trace. It made what
already felt like less than a triumphal return seem downright ominous,
a dark reminder of the price of failure.
Still, she couldn't attribute the heavy quiet that reigned in their
office to anything other than that day at the Gunmen's lair. They were
supposed to be putting the Files back in order, meticulously going over
all that had been done, or not done, in the months that Spender and
Fowley had spent in their places. The work was frustrating and slow.
Call logs didn't translate into case files, or even preliminary
investigations. E-mail correspondence showed huge gaps, and IT was
taking its sweet time in turning over the missing pieces. Realistically
speaking, she knew that the X-Files had a lower priority than FOIA
requests from outside the agency, but it was possible that the life of
an Agent was at stake — although it was hard to imagine that Agent
Spender had survived the injuries that had caused his massive blood
loss.
As for the missing Agent Fowley, Mulder had been unusually reticent
about whatever he had discussed with his ex-partner in the hectic hours
before the El Rico massacre, giving Skinner the bare minimum of answers
to his questions. In light of their last discussion about that woman,
she hadn't brought the subject up, but it lay between them all day,
every day, as they worked at their desks in near silence.
More times than she'd care to admit she'd caught Mulder staring at
her. His focus was penetrating, but it was as if he wasn't seeing her.
He was profiling her, and she hated it, hated how it made her feel like
she was the body on the examining table, the victim at the crime scene.
It made her want to scream at him, to stand up and shake him, to ask
him how he dared to look at her that way, but they were barely
speaking, and she couldn't risk total alienation from him.
As it was, the fact that her phone never rang at night, that whole
weekends of silence would go by without a plea for her to join him on a
wild goose chase or to come into the office on a Saturday made her feel
vaguely lightheaded and nauseated. This latest Monday, Mulder had been
late to the office. When he'd arrived, he didn't offer an explanation
as to where he'd been until almost ten o'clock in the morning, or why
his knuckles were bruised and abraded. He'd just handed her a cup of
coffee from her favorite little café, with a "Sorry I'm late, Scully."
Before she could even formulate a question, he'd proposed an outrageous
hypothesis about one of the more puzzling gaps in the Files. She'd let
him divert her, relief flooding her at what seemed to be a return to
something like status quo.
But the silence, and Mulder's periods of observation of her,
continued.
Sometimes, she would notice the quiet and look up to see Mulder
staring fixedly into space, his posture totally still, his eyes just
slightly narrowed in concentration. To anyone else, he'd appear to be
daydreaming, but she wasn't fooled into believing such a thing. Once,
when she worked the courage up to ask him what he was thinking about,
he'd tapped the File that lay open on his desk. Just recently, he'd
answered her with the assertion that he was trying to fill the gaps in
'of Agents Spender and Fowley's shoddy work' and her surprise at
hearing him use Diana's name in that context was sharp and relieving,
dissipating some of the tension that filled their too-quiet office.
Still, her phone never rang at night. She'd sleep tensely, in the dark
days of winter and cold, her body taut and waiting for the summons that
she'd begun to doubt would ever come.
~*~
After four days of intermittent silence, interspersed with minor shop
talk and void of jokes, innuendo and any sort of personal remark,
Mulder had startled her by making moves to leave immediately after 5:00
pm.
"Leaving so soon?" she'd asked sarcastically, before she had a chance
to check herself. She practically bit her tongue to keep from asking if
he had a date.
"I've got an early game," Mulder said, rolling down his second sleeve
and refastening the cuff. "Oh, and I won't be in tomorrow," he added,
almost as if it were an afterthought. "I'm taking a personal day." He
drew his suitcoat on with a shrug and grabbed his overcoat. "Have a
good weekend, Scully." And then he was gone, the tail of his scarf
hanging in the space he'd occupied next to the door just a second after
the rest of him disappeared, and before the door banged closed.
By the time she'd started from her chair to go after him, she'd
already heard the slam of the stairwell door down the hall. He hadn't
even waited to take the elevator in his all-out desire to get as far
away from her as possible.
She was shocked and angry, but mostly wounded to have her paranoid
feelings validated. He didn't trust her anymore, and he was leaving her
behind while he figured out … something. The holes in the Files weren't
big enough to anchor a man as restless as Mulder to his desk, but
something had kept him here for the past four weeks. Once that
unwelcome thought had crossed her mind, it was hard to shake the idea
that perhaps he'd gone back to his first, trusted partner for whatever
case he was hiding from her. The very idea had made her rigid with
indignation, but it firmed her spine. If it were true, then Fox Mulder
was not the man that she'd believed him to be all these years. If it
were true, Diana Fowley could fucking have him, and welcome to him.
First things first, however. Mulder wasn't the only investigator in
this partnership. Scully called her mechanic, knowing that Thursday
was his night to be open late, and dropped her car off for a long
overdue tune-up, arranging for one of his fleet of loaner cars to be
hers for the interim period. When Mulder left his game at the Y, she
followed him back to Hegal Place in a nondescript Volvo, her bright
hair hidden under a rolled brim knit navy cap. She'd settled in with a
book and a thermos of coffee, but he'd come out of his building just
after 11:00, dressed in clothes that reminded her of a hallway outside
her hospital room in Allentown. Traffic was lighter at this hour, so
she had to exert more caution in following him, especially when he
drove to a sparsely traveled former industrial area down by the river
that had been more recently populated by sketchy after-hours clubs.
Clusters of clubgoers stood outside in their fetishwear, smoking in the
foggy darkness. She'd had to ditch the car and follow him on foot, but
he'd outfoxed her and she'd lost him in the crowds.
She'd woken early after an uneasy night's sleep and found herself
utterly incapable of focusing during the long, dull, interminable
Friday. When he hadn't called in by 3:00 in the afternoon, she'd taken
a chance and called both his cell and home phones, but the calls went
unanswered before rolling into voicemail. She hadn't left a message,
but left the office early in a foul mood, determined to shake off the
abysmal week and enjoy her weekend. She tried to nap, but her dreams
were dark and full of phantoms, and nothing at the movies appealed.
After doing grocery shopping, picking at her dinner and washing, drying
and folding three scintillating loads of laundry, she'd broken down and
driven over to the Gunmen's, despite the late hour and lack of
invitation to find out what, exactly, he was up to, even though such a
journey guaranteed that she'd have to admit that she didn't know where
he was.
It wasn't until her question was met with Frohike's awkward silence,
while Byers and Langley shifted around uncomfortably that she had felt
the first cold thrill of true fear. The truth was that none of them
had spoken to Mulder since the day after that awful day when they'd
confronted him about Diana Fowley.
According to Byers and Frohike, Mulder had come back and taken their
findings, and then left 'after some heated discussion'. That had been
the last time that they'd seen or heard from him.
She must have looked particularly stricken when this fact was
revealed, because Langley had almost stumbled over his feet in an
effort to get to the computer and start checking possibilities for
where Mulder might have gone when Frohike had announced that they would
track him. Byers had gently assured her that Mulder would be fine, and
she'd nodded, feeling numb and frozen. They began the process of
searching through the lists of all-known aliases they had for Mulder,
looking for credit card activity, phone records, anything. She watched
them all as if from a great distance, and left hours later with no new
information. She walked out into the darkest and coldest part of the
winter night without even drawing her coat closed, feeling nothing but
fear.
Whatever Mulder was doing, he was out there all alone -- and she'd
driven him to it.
*~*
Part 2
Author:
comice aka Anjou (Anjou@rocketmail.com)Posting Date: December 2007/January 2008
Rating: R for language and sexuality; M for Mature readers
Classification: Mulder/Scully, UST/MSR, AU
Archive: No archival until the story is completed, please. I'll be submitting to Ephemeral and Gossamer myself.
Spoilers: Through Two Fathers/One Son (S6), then AU. In other words, no Arcadia and beyond. Mytharc-y.
Disclaimer: All X-Files personnel belong to 1013 and Fox. All other elements are mine.
Author's Note: This was the first idea for an X-Files story that I ever had, and one that I believed had been lost forever, since the laptop the outline was on had been destroyed. However, early last summer I found a printed copy of what I'd written, misfiled with another story. The idea of the story began to work on my imagination, until I finally committed the time to writing it out. And so, here we are.
This is not a WIP. The last three sections are still being finalized, but it is complete. I'll be posting one part a day until it's completed. As I'm still figuring out where to put the section breaks, the 21 parts is an estimate. It may be more, but is not likely to be less.
Daily posts can be read on my fic journal
anjoufic as well as Ephemeral and other XF fic sites. The whole tale will be archived at my website, No Other … (maintained by the generous dtg), when it is completed.As always, thanks to my sister and editrix, Suzanne, for her support.
Summary: Cast your memory back to the dark days of Season 6, to the period immediately following the confrontation between Mulder and Scully in the Gunmen's Office. It is late winter, dark and cold, the landscape obscured and transformed by snow and ice. One must step carefully, for the very ground can be treacherous. This is a lesson Mulder and Scully have already learned when the pristine snow in Antartica yielded a long-buried secret. But the winter can hold many secrets, and could tell many tales, if it so chose. This is but one.
~*~
March 1999
It all started with a ditch.
Of course, that wasn't the whole story.
It had really started in the aftermath of that horrible day at the
Gunmen's. She'd been so sure that she was right about Diana Fowley, and been
angry for so long about the blind spot that Mulder seemed to have about
that untrustworthy woman.
Privately, she could grudgingly admit that she'd been jealous and
hurt for weeks and that was why she'd asked the Gunmen to investigate
for her. But even if she regretted how she'd gone about it, in the
quiet days after when conversation between them had dwindled to the
bare minimum, she couldn't regret that she had done it. Diana Fowley
was up to her neck in this conspiracy, was a friend and a colleague to
those people who had killed Melissa, and robbed Scully of both choice
and autonomy. She might not have had the proof that she had always
demanded of Mulder, but in this one case, Dana Scully knew with
absolute and sure certainty that Diana Fowley had collaborated with the
doctors who had experimented on her.
Truthfully, she believed that Diana had ordered her mutilation, an
intuition that she could never explain, much less prove, to Mulder.
It was a truly feminine thing, how one woman knew when another woman
hated her. Diana had tried to dismiss her, to diminish Special Agent Dana
Scully, M.D., at every possible opportunity. Diana treated her like
she didn't matter at all, like she was a gnat buzzing around, a disturbance
in the air. That dismissiveness, the cool dispassion that Diana maintained
at all costs around her, told Dana more than Diana had ever intended.
Diana Fowley hated her, and she wanted Dana to feel more than discomfited,
she wanted her to feel displaced, the way Diana must have felt when she
came back to the X-Files, intending to step right back into the shoes that
Dana now wore. Diana Fowley had been foolish enough to think that Dana Scully
could be ignored into disappearing, that losing her job with the X-Files
would mean the end of her partnership with Fox Mulder. But six years of
the X-Files had taught her what it meant to be ridiculed and scorned by peers,
superiors, the world at large, and even, on occasion, her own family.
She would not be so easily moved aside.
Besides, Diana Fowley's big feet wouldn't fit into her shoes, even
if she were inclined to step out of them, which she most certainly was
not.
Even now, after Diana Fowley had disappeared, leaving a trail of
mysteries behind her -- the charred bodies at the El Rico Air Force
Base; a deserted apartment at the Watergate; and the pool of Jeffrey
Spender's blood that she and Mulder had discovered when they'd
reclaimed their basement office –- she cast a dark shadow over their
funereally quiet office. The puzzling lack of Jeffrey Spender's body,
in concert with his astonishing declarations in Kersh's office,
compounded the macabre tone. It was as if the air between their two
desks was filled with the haunting presence of its previous
inhabitants, both mysteriously vanished without a trace. It made what
already felt like less than a triumphal return seem downright ominous,
a dark reminder of the price of failure.
Still, she couldn't attribute the heavy quiet that reigned in their
office to anything other than that day at the Gunmen's lair. They were
supposed to be putting the Files back in order, meticulously going over
all that had been done, or not done, in the months that Spender and
Fowley had spent in their places. The work was frustrating and slow.
Call logs didn't translate into case files, or even preliminary
investigations. E-mail correspondence showed huge gaps, and IT was
taking its sweet time in turning over the missing pieces. Realistically
speaking, she knew that the X-Files had a lower priority than FOIA
requests from outside the agency, but it was possible that the life of
an Agent was at stake — although it was hard to imagine that Agent
Spender had survived the injuries that had caused his massive blood
loss.
As for the missing Agent Fowley, Mulder had been unusually reticent
about whatever he had discussed with his ex-partner in the hectic hours
before the El Rico massacre, giving Skinner the bare minimum of answers
to his questions. In light of their last discussion about that woman,
she hadn't brought the subject up, but it lay between them all day,
every day, as they worked at their desks in near silence.
More times than she'd care to admit she'd caught Mulder staring at
her. His focus was penetrating, but it was as if he wasn't seeing her.
He was profiling her, and she hated it, hated how it made her feel like
she was the body on the examining table, the victim at the crime scene.
It made her want to scream at him, to stand up and shake him, to ask
him how he dared to look at her that way, but they were barely
speaking, and she couldn't risk total alienation from him.
As it was, the fact that her phone never rang at night, that whole
weekends of silence would go by without a plea for her to join him on a
wild goose chase or to come into the office on a Saturday made her feel
vaguely lightheaded and nauseated. This latest Monday, Mulder had been
late to the office. When he'd arrived, he didn't offer an explanation
as to where he'd been until almost ten o'clock in the morning, or why
his knuckles were bruised and abraded. He'd just handed her a cup of
coffee from her favorite little café, with a "Sorry I'm late, Scully."
Before she could even formulate a question, he'd proposed an outrageous
hypothesis about one of the more puzzling gaps in the Files. She'd let
him divert her, relief flooding her at what seemed to be a return to
something like status quo.
But the silence, and Mulder's periods of observation of her,
continued.
Sometimes, she would notice the quiet and look up to see Mulder
staring fixedly into space, his posture totally still, his eyes just
slightly narrowed in concentration. To anyone else, he'd appear to be
daydreaming, but she wasn't fooled into believing such a thing. Once,
when she worked the courage up to ask him what he was thinking about,
he'd tapped the File that lay open on his desk. Just recently, he'd
answered her with the assertion that he was trying to fill the gaps in
'of Agents Spender and Fowley's shoddy work' and her surprise at
hearing him use Diana's name in that context was sharp and relieving,
dissipating some of the tension that filled their too-quiet office.
Still, her phone never rang at night. She'd sleep tensely, in the dark
days of winter and cold, her body taut and waiting for the summons that
she'd begun to doubt would ever come.
~*~
After four days of intermittent silence, interspersed with minor shop
talk and void of jokes, innuendo and any sort of personal remark,
Mulder had startled her by making moves to leave immediately after 5:00
pm.
"Leaving so soon?" she'd asked sarcastically, before she had a chance
to check herself. She practically bit her tongue to keep from asking if
he had a date.
"I've got an early game," Mulder said, rolling down his second sleeve
and refastening the cuff. "Oh, and I won't be in tomorrow," he added,
almost as if it were an afterthought. "I'm taking a personal day." He
drew his suitcoat on with a shrug and grabbed his overcoat. "Have a
good weekend, Scully." And then he was gone, the tail of his scarf
hanging in the space he'd occupied next to the door just a second after
the rest of him disappeared, and before the door banged closed.
By the time she'd started from her chair to go after him, she'd
already heard the slam of the stairwell door down the hall. He hadn't
even waited to take the elevator in his all-out desire to get as far
away from her as possible.
She was shocked and angry, but mostly wounded to have her paranoid
feelings validated. He didn't trust her anymore, and he was leaving her
behind while he figured out … something. The holes in the Files weren't
big enough to anchor a man as restless as Mulder to his desk, but
something had kept him here for the past four weeks. Once that
unwelcome thought had crossed her mind, it was hard to shake the idea
that perhaps he'd gone back to his first, trusted partner for whatever
case he was hiding from her. The very idea had made her rigid with
indignation, but it firmed her spine. If it were true, then Fox Mulder
was not the man that she'd believed him to be all these years. If it
were true, Diana Fowley could fucking have him, and welcome to him.
First things first, however. Mulder wasn't the only investigator in
this partnership. Scully called her mechanic, knowing that Thursday
was his night to be open late, and dropped her car off for a long
overdue tune-up, arranging for one of his fleet of loaner cars to be
hers for the interim period. When Mulder left his game at the Y, she
followed him back to Hegal Place in a nondescript Volvo, her bright
hair hidden under a rolled brim knit navy cap. She'd settled in with a
book and a thermos of coffee, but he'd come out of his building just
after 11:00, dressed in clothes that reminded her of a hallway outside
her hospital room in Allentown. Traffic was lighter at this hour, so
she had to exert more caution in following him, especially when he
drove to a sparsely traveled former industrial area down by the river
that had been more recently populated by sketchy after-hours clubs.
Clusters of clubgoers stood outside in their fetishwear, smoking in the
foggy darkness. She'd had to ditch the car and follow him on foot, but
he'd outfoxed her and she'd lost him in the crowds.
She'd woken early after an uneasy night's sleep and found herself
utterly incapable of focusing during the long, dull, interminable
Friday. When he hadn't called in by 3:00 in the afternoon, she'd taken
a chance and called both his cell and home phones, but the calls went
unanswered before rolling into voicemail. She hadn't left a message,
but left the office early in a foul mood, determined to shake off the
abysmal week and enjoy her weekend. She tried to nap, but her dreams
were dark and full of phantoms, and nothing at the movies appealed.
After doing grocery shopping, picking at her dinner and washing, drying
and folding three scintillating loads of laundry, she'd broken down and
driven over to the Gunmen's, despite the late hour and lack of
invitation to find out what, exactly, he was up to, even though such a
journey guaranteed that she'd have to admit that she didn't know where
he was.
It wasn't until her question was met with Frohike's awkward silence,
while Byers and Langley shifted around uncomfortably that she had felt
the first cold thrill of true fear. The truth was that none of them
had spoken to Mulder since the day after that awful day when they'd
confronted him about Diana Fowley.
According to Byers and Frohike, Mulder had come back and taken their
findings, and then left 'after some heated discussion'. That had been
the last time that they'd seen or heard from him.
She must have looked particularly stricken when this fact was
revealed, because Langley had almost stumbled over his feet in an
effort to get to the computer and start checking possibilities for
where Mulder might have gone when Frohike had announced that they would
track him. Byers had gently assured her that Mulder would be fine, and
she'd nodded, feeling numb and frozen. They began the process of
searching through the lists of all-known aliases they had for Mulder,
looking for credit card activity, phone records, anything. She watched
them all as if from a great distance, and left hours later with no new
information. She walked out into the darkest and coldest part of the
winter night without even drawing her coat closed, feeling nothing but
fear.
Whatever Mulder was doing, he was out there all alone -- and she'd
driven him to it.
*~*
Part 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 04:00 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for sharing. I'll be eagerly awaiting more.
Happy holidays to you!
no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 04:50 pm (UTC)Havenite
no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 05:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-22 09:37 pm (UTC)Yay fic!
Date: 2007-12-23 12:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 05:02 am (UTC)It's a thrill to "have " you back.
Maravilhoso!!!!
Date: 2007-12-23 09:41 am (UTC)Aguardo também ansiosa a continuação em Speecheless Serie. Eu adoro essa série!
Você está de parabéns e muito obrigada por ter voltado - estávamos precisando disso!!!
Um grande abraço - Edna - Rio de Janeiro - Brazil
no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 04:37 pm (UTC)Love your icon!
Date: 2007-12-23 04:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 04:39 pm (UTC)Re: Yay fic!
Date: 2007-12-23 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 04:41 pm (UTC)It's great to be back. The last couple of years have been complicated and grueling, and I cannot tell you what a luxury it is to have the time to write. Thank you for the warm welcome.
Re: Maravilhoso!!!!
Date: 2007-12-23 04:49 pm (UTC)Thank you for your warm and enthusiastic praise. It so wonderful that you're reading my story -- I admire people who read in more than one language. It's a marvelous skill. As to your question about the Speechless series, I'm hoping to get to it in 2008. After A Winter's Tale, I've got the fourth story in the Ghosts series in the works. After that, I'm planning to work on Justice.
Obrigado outra vez! Eu emito o que um morno embrace no retorno, e meus mais melhores desejos por um feriado feliz.
no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-23 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-24 06:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-24 06:54 pm (UTC)Now, you do realize that Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan aren't going to show up in this story, right?
Thanks so much for your enthusiasm!
no subject
Date: 2007-12-24 06:55 pm (UTC)Welcome aboard and thanks for the support. It is very welcome.
Take care,
Anjou
no subject
Date: 2007-12-26 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-26 09:58 pm (UTC)A Winter's Tale
Date: 2007-12-31 07:27 pm (UTC)Debra
Re: A Winter's Tale
Date: 2008-01-01 07:25 pm (UTC)Happy New Year to you!
Cool construction technologies1
Date: 2015-07-10 11:58 am (UTC)Идеальный внешний вид, абсолютно ровная поверхность, огромное количество вариантов форты и цветового решения;
Быстрота установки. Вам не потребуется при установке натяжных потолков проводить ремонт всей квартиры или дома;
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Небольшие комнаты визуально увеличиваются в размерах даже без услуг дизайнера;
Прекрасная шумоизоляция.
Популярность растет
Наибольшую популярность среди натяжных потолков, которые вы можете заказать, приобрели большую популярность глянцевые потолки. Их можно использовать абсолютно в любых помещениях и даже для ванной комнаты.